Truth Beyond Memory
by shadowycat
Summary: Minerva McGonagall has a good life: a job she loves, dear friends, a comfortable home, and a passionate relationship with the much younger Severus Snape. Indeed, life is very good...until her past comes back and threatens to take it all away. Completed
1. Mirror, Mirror

**Truth Beyond Memory**

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic**, for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :)

**Chapter One: Mirror, Mirror…**

From a narrow bed in the bright, airy infirmary, Severus Snape scowled darkly out the window at the world beyond. It was a perfect day. The sky was lightly overcast, not too sunny, not too bright. No wind to speak of. The temperature was hovering in the cool, but not cold, range. It was absolutely and unseasonably perfect for the start of the Quidditch season, and for the first time since he'd been a teacher at Hogwarts, he was going to miss the opening match. The truly important one…Slytherin versus Gryffindor. This was the match that would no doubt set the tone for the entire season, likely determining who would ultimately win the Quidditch Cup.

Oh, yes, there were two other teams, but, really, they served as nothing more than practice teams for the truly important ones to sharpen their skills on. Rarely did they ever come into serious contention, at least not in recent years. It almost always came down to Slytherin and Gryffindor, as did most things of any importance around here. As head of Slytherin House, he should be sitting in a prominent position in the stands and directing haughty glances at Minerva McGonagall while his team flew on to victory over hers. But would he get the chance to assume his rightful position over her? No. All because of his own absolute stupidity!

It rankled that he couldn't even blame his present circumstances on others. Landing in the infirmary with his leg torn open from hip to ankle had been due entirely to his own carelessness. He'd known that despite their usual scarcity in this part of the world, there were Pogrebins on the prowl in the forest at the moment. And since he'd known running into them was at least a possibility, he should've been much more careful when he'd ventured in on his weekly hunt for fresh potion ingredients. Usually he was, but he'd let himself become distracted by finding an unexpectedly large batch of a rare herb that he needed for an upcoming potions lesson. The herb was off its cycle somehow, as it should've been past its growing season, so finding it had been an unexpected stroke of luck…bad luck, as it turned out.

Thinking back on it, he realized that he'd never heard of so many Pogrebins attacking at once. Usually, no more than two or three of them hunted together, but this time there must've been at least fifteen of them, and they were all far too hungry. The intense feeling of hopelessness that had washed over him when they attacked had left him overwhelmed and feeling ill at its sudden onslaught. With his will being unnaturally sapped by their influence, he'd barely been able to fight back enough to escape with his life. Dragging himself back to the castle for help with his injuries had almost been more than he'd been able to manage, though he'd never admit it to anyone. He was fortunate to have been found by Minerva and Hagrid or he just might have bled to death before he could get beyond the front door. Wouldn't that be a humiliating epitaph. Severus Snape…nibbled to death by rocks.

In the end, he supposed that he'd been damned lucky to escape at all, but at the moment, his luck seemed rather sour indeed. A few weeks of wasting his valuable time in bed at the mercy of that iron willed matron who ran this prison was punishment enough for his carelessness, but this was above and beyond. There were expectations on him that plagued no other at this school. He needed to project an image of strength for all the eyes that watched him so closely. Failing to make his usual appearance at today's match wouldn't help at all. But there didn't seem to be a single thing that he could do about it.

So he crossed his arms angrily over his chest, leaned back against his pillow and sulked as he waited for Poppy to come out of her office in preparation for heading down to the Quidditch pitch herself. She'd been rubbing his nose in it all morning, talking about what a perfect day it was for Quidditch and how much she was looking forward to the match. Insolent woman!

It was a blatant dereliction of her duty to go off and leave him here to suffer alone, and he planned to make damned sure that she realized that before she ran off to enjoy herself. Oh, yes, she could protest all she wished that she wasn't leaving him alone. That he'd be very well taken care of in her absence, but no matter what she wanted to believe, having that annoyingly subservient house elf come peer at him with her huge liquid eyes was more irritating than helpful. It was Poppy's job to be here if there were patients in need of care. No, she had no business leaving him here alone, and if there was anything that he could do to make her feel guilty or uncomfortable about it then he wanted to be certain that he did it.

As he was mentally rehearsing his lecture, the door to the infirmary inched open and Minerva McGonagall came in, struggling mightily with a large, shallow stone bowl. It more than filled her arms and was obviously rather awkward to move around. The overburdened witch staggered under its weight and breathed a huge sigh of relief when she was able to deposit it on a nearby bed once she'd finally managed to maneuver it through the doorway.

A small smile quirked the corners of Snape's mouth as he watched in puzzlement while his slender colleague wrestled with the large, heavy basin. Here, at least, was a momentary diversion from his mood of gloomy annoyance.

"What in the world are you up to with that thing, Minerva? Surely there must be easier ways of getting some exercise. Why ever are you carrying it, anyway? You do know how to use a simple levitation spell, don't you?"

Minerva leaned heavily against the edge of the huge bowl, her breathing was still a trifle accelerated, as if she'd carried the heavy thing for quite a distance.

Then slowly she raised her head to stare at the smirking Snape, trying to ignore the sarcastic tone of his voice.

"I brought this for you, Severus, so don't start with me," she warned.

Snape's eyebrows rose in mock surprise. "For me? What an unexpected gift. That has to be the largest pensieve I've ever seen. Are you foolishly assuming that since I'm stuck here I'd have nothing better to do with my time than comb through my memories for amusement? Or were you planning to offer up some of your own for my entertainment? Hmmm…now what deep dark secrets are hidden in your past, I wonder? Might be amusing at that."

A brief shiver ran through her and her lips tightened, but she gave his taunting no other response. Then, with a deep breath, she heaved the basin up into her arms once more and carried it over to drop it deliberately on the end of Snape's bed, forcing him to move his good leg out of her way rather hastily.

"Watch where you toss that oversized pensieve, Minerva! I don't need to damage the other leg, too. I would like to get out of here sometime this century," he snapped.

"It's not a pensieve, Severus, as you well know. I'm quite certain that there's nothing wrong with your eyes after all, or your mouth, unfortunately," she snapped back. "This is a scrying pool. I borrowed it from Sibyll. I was feeling a bit sorry that you were laid up here and had to miss the Quidditch match this afternoon, so I thought I'd make things easier on you. Merlin knows why I bothered."

An incredulous expression settled onto Snape's features as his voice dripped with sarcasm. "A scrying pool? Do you expect me to somehow forecast the outcome of the match with that monstrosity? Wouldn't it have been easier for the two of us to have simply had tea together? Then we could peer into the resulting muck and ponder the future's mysteries at our leisure, no heavy lifting involved. Really, I didn't think you believed in that foolishness anymore than I did. How disappointing."

Minerva crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "I don't, and I'm truly beginning to regret my impulse to try and help you watch the match. If you'd prefer to sit here alone and lament your pitiful state and then rely on the slim hope that someone will be willing to tell you exactly how the match went after the fact, I have no objection. However, I emphatically assure you, it won't be me."

Snape sighed heavily and pulled himself up a bit on the bed to take a better look at the scrying pool. She was so much fun to needle. The trick was to know just when to stop. He didn't truly want to anger her after all; at least, not without good reason. "Oh, very well. Since you've gone to all the trouble of borrowing that thing from our esteemed colleague and bringing it all the way down here, I suppose I can hear you out. It's not as if I have anything better to do at the moment after all."

Minerva suppressed a smile at the emphasis that Severus put on the word esteemed, but refrained from commenting. "How generous of you. Very well." Slightly mollified, she straightened up and dropped her arms. "I tend to share your opinion of the scrying pool. I've never seen an accurate prediction come from the use of one of these things. However, it is a magically attuned object, and as such, it can be used in other, more practical ways."

"Such as?" Snape raised an eyebrow.

Minerva frowned again. "Such as a viewer of current events. Are you really telling me that you weren't aware that it could be used in this manner?"

Snape shrugged. "I don't give much thought to matters of Divination and its trappings and fripperies."

Minerva sighed. "No. Normally I don't either, but this is really quite helpful. I've made use of it before when students were laid up here in the infirmary for an extended length of time and had to miss classes. This viewer allowed them to watch from here, so even though they couldn't participate, they could see the lecture, and thus, didn't fall too far behind."

Intrigued in spite of himself, Snape leaned closer to the bowl. "How does it work?"

With a flourish, Minerva conjured up a support table, which she shifted close to the side of Snape's bed. Then she placed the pool onto the table and filled it with water from a nearby pitcher. "You simply need to use a magic mirror spell on it. That turns it into a viewer. You can specify the scene you wish to view with a simple locator spell and tighten your focus with the same sort of viewing spells that you use on the telescope for fine-tuning. The scrying pool is ideal for this use as its primary purpose is to allow people to view things, so the focus is really quite excellent. The mass of the water gives the picture wonderful depth, too…much better than what you'd find in an actual magic mirror."

To demonstrate that she was correct, she waved her wand and cast the first spell. The pool's contents stiffened and became as solid as a sheet of glass. Then, with another wave of her wand, the support table shifted upwards and tilted the "mirror" into a comfortable angle for viewing from the bed. Minerva smiled in satisfaction. "You see…very simple."

Snape nodded. "It does seem to be."

"I told you that I'd allowed students to use it. If they could manage it then I'm sure that you'll have no difficulty."

"No. I'm sure I'll manage. Thank you, Minerva. It was very…thoughtful of you to take the time to do this. Though why on earth didn't you just levitate the thing down here instead of carrying it the whole way from the North Tower?"

Minerva snorted shortly and smiled. "Believe me, I would have if it was possible, but all of Sibyll's things are so ridiculously sensitive that they can't be fussed around with too much. The first time I tried this, I did levitate it down here, but the spell disturbed the delicate magical tuning of the pool and all we were able to pull in on the viewer was a blurry picture of the house elves as they prepared dinner. Hardly worth the effort."

Snape grunted his agreement, but before he could venture any further comments, Poppy bustled out of her office all bundled up for her trip down to the Quidditch pitch. "Well, what's this?" She walked over and inspected the viewer. "I haven't seen you use this in quite awhile, Minerva. Not since Miss Granger had that unfortunate accident a few years back now and had a somewhat lengthy stay here."

The nurse turned and eyed her recalcitrant patient with satisfaction. "It's a good idea, though. It'll keep you from haranguing me because I won't let you out of bed to attend the match as I'm sure you were planning to do." Snape glowered darkly as the nurse continued, "This way you won't miss a thing, nor will you harm that leg by putting any pressure on it before it's ready to support you again."

"I still say that I would be just fine to go down to the pitch myself. My leg is hardly even sore anymore. You can't keep me a prisoner here forever you know."

Poppy looked horrified. "Good heavens, what makes you think I'd want to? You are by far and away my most difficult patient; no matter how long or short a stay you have in my infirmary. It's always a pleasure to see you walk out of here, but when you do, I'd like to think that you wouldn't be back immediately. If you tried to walk all the way down to the Quidditch pitch today, over all that uneven ground, even with a strong cane, you'd be with me a lot longer than you will be if you just behave and do what I tell you to do. I swear you think I talk just for the sheer joy of hearing it."

"It certainly does seem so," he asserted dryly.

Poppy waved her hand in dismissal. "Pah. I'm not wasting any more time arguing with you. I want to get a good seat. Remember that Winky will be popping in every now and then to check on you. If you need anything just ask her…politely if possible. Now that you have the viewer, I expect her life will be a lot easier, as well as happier, for the next few hours." She turned to the witch standing next to her. "Coming, Minerva?"

Minerva smiled. "I'll be along in a few minutes, Poppy. I want to be sure that Severus doesn't have any problems adjusting the viewer first. Then I need to stop at my rooms to collect my cloak and hat."

Poppy nodded and with a final warning scowl at her patient, she wrapped her cloak more tightly around her body and headed out the door of the infirmary. Once it had closed behind her, Minerva turned back to Snape.

"Do you have any more questions before I go, Severus?" she asked.

A haughty smirk crossed his lips. "Just one." With a quick movement, he slid down against his supporting pillows as he reached out and pulled the startled witch down onto the bed beside him. Before she could offer a protest, he sealed her lips with his own and kissed her hungrily. After a moment's hesitation, she kissed him back just as eagerly. He turned to meet her and she stretched her body out along his own, pressing her chest to his and entwining her fingers in his long hair. His arms clasped her tightly against him, and she could feel his growing hardness pressing into her groin. For a moment, it was all too easy to forget that they were in an unshielded bed in the open infirmary ward where anyone might walk in on them at any time.

When that fact finally penetrated to Minerva's consciousness, she began to pull back and tried to sit up, though Snape's arms were a difficult restraint to overcome. "Severus…this really isn't the place for this," she whispered reluctantly as she tried to pull her lips from his.

"Perhaps not, but then it's the only one available to us at the moment. You're the one who started this, you know. You threw yourself at me if I recall correctly."

"Nonsense. You were a very willing participant," she said softly as he began to nuzzle her neck distractingly. His lips were sending tingling shivers all through her body.

"We were both drunk out of our minds." His voice drifted up to her.

"Well…yes…the first time…but after that, I believe we were both quite sober," she murmured in faint reply.

Slowly he pulled back and smiled smugly down at her. "True…as we are right now. Which brings me to my question. Will you stay and watch the match here with me?" His hand casually drifted down the side of her cheek, along her the length of her throat, and continued down over the swell of her breast…caressing softly.

With a deep pang of regret, she pulled back out of his arms and sat up. "I hardly think either of us would get much watching in if I did that, and I've been waiting all week to see Gryffindor wipe up the pitch with Slytherin." A teasing smile was directed his way to soften the blow.

Arching an eyebrow in response, he released his hold on her and pulled himself up into a sitting position once more. "Oh, really? Would you care to put your money where your arrogant assumptions are?" he drawled softly.

"Oh, that's a switch, you calling my assumptions arrogant. Certainly, I'd be happy to indulge in a little wager. What did you have in mind?"

"How about five Galleons to the winner. Six if their seeker manages to capture the snitch within the first fifteen minutes of the game."

Minerva nodded. "Done." She extended her hand to seal the bargain, but with a withering look, Snape ignored it and pulled her down into his arms once more for another lengthy kiss. "Severus," she cried as she felt his legs brush against hers. "I don't want to hurt your leg."

Snape ran his hands down over her backside possessively before he reluctantly released her with a scowl. "My leg feels much better. No matter what Poppy says, I still say that I could get down to the pitch with a minimum of difficulty." He directed a more intense look her way. "And it was only my leg that was injured, Minerva. Nothing else was harmed in the slightest, I assure you. If you're willing…I'm still most capable."

Her face flushed slightly as she remembered the tempting feel of that seductive hardness pressing urgently against her body just a few moments before. Thankfully, he was right. An injury there would have been a dreadful shame. He was ready faster than any lover she'd ever had. Of course, it had been awhile since she'd had a much younger lover, but she doubted that age alone had much to do with it. The quickness of his responses seemed to fit his somewhat mercurial personality. Quick to anger…quick to love…at least physically. She doubted that anyone would ever crack the iron bands he kept around his feelings, but that really wasn't her concern. An enjoyable physical relationship was all that was desired here anyway, as long as it remained enjoyable to them both, and so far it had…very much so.

Of course, it was a danger becoming entangled with a colleague in any way. Not that their involvement had been planned by either of them. However, once it had happened, and they'd both admitted to enjoying it, well…it had been fairly easy to take the tack of wait and see and continue on as long as it was what they each desired. They were both private people by nature. So far, no one suspected a thing, and that was the way they wanted to keep it, though Severus was apparently willing to take a few more chances than she was comfortable with if he was willing to have sex here and now.

However, she'd known that he was a risk taker for years; he was a spy after all, so she could hardly complain too much. Her heart still pounded violently when she remembered how he'd insisted on taking her up against the wall in the Charms corridor on the third floor one afternoon shortly after they'd begun their liaison while most of the school was in classes all around them. The intense thrill of that encounter had been intoxicating, but Peeves had almost caught them at it, and if he had…

With a shiver, she slid off the bed and quickly rearranged her garments. "Now is not the time, Severus, and this is most certainly not the place," she exclaimed primly.

With a mildly frustrated sigh, he considered her through narrowed eyes. "All right. If you insist. I shall simply have to amuse myself in other ways…such as imagining the look on your face when you come crawling back here to pay up on your wager."

She crossed her arms and gazed at him over the top of her spectacles. "If you wish to indulge in sheer fantasy I suppose that I can't stop you. I hear that delusions often ease the passage of time." Then she tapped the viewer with her hand and turned and headed for the door. "Enjoy the match, Severus. I'll be back later to collect the viewer…and my winnings." Then, with a final smile in his direction, she was gone, leaving him alone in the quiet of the ward.


	2. Do You See What I See?

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :)

Chapter Two: Do You See What I See?

Alone in the infirmary, Snape leaned back in disgust and watched Draco Malfoy make yet another failed attempt to capture the snitch. This match had dragged on interminably, and it was becoming painfully obvious that Gryffindor would once more come out ahead. Damn that useless brat anyway! With him as team seeker there was very little chance of Slytherin ever regaining their rightful place as holder of the Quidditch cup. Even that idiot Potter was a better seeker. At least he could manage to stay on his broomstick in a little wind and knew enough to open his mouth if the snitch decided to fly into it. Malfoy would let it bounce off his nose first.

Shaking his head in irritation, Snape crossed his arms and stroked his chin slowly. If he thought for a moment that he could get away with it, he'd arrange for a little "accident" to befall the scion of the Malfoy clan. If ever there was a family that deserved to die out, it was them. However there was no use tempting fate. Far too much was at stake to take the chance of killing the little weasel. He just wasn't worth the risk or the time and effort that would be necessary to make a proper job of it. At a bare minimum, though, he should find a way for the arrogant little fool to repay the five Galleons that he was now about to owe to Minerva. At least it wasn't six.

After a thoughtful pause, Snape decided that he was sick of looking at Draco Malfoy and, raising his wand, he uttered the command that would make the pool show him another viewpoint. Now it focused its all seeing eye on the stands that were full to bursting with eager fans…the Gryffindor stands. "Narrow focus," he exclaimed shortly, and before he knew it, he was staring at a close up view of Minerva McGonagall, who scanned the skies avidly, as she sat in her seat on the bleachers between Albus Dumbledore and Irma Pince.

She was obviously quite excited, and why not, he thought sourly, she was about to become five Galleons richer with no effort on her part whatsoever. His eyes wandered over her flushed face, noting the sparkle in her eyes and the taut excitement that coursed through her slender body, keeping her tensely perched on the very edge of her seat. As he watched her, he could feel his own body responding to what looked very much like the signs of sexual arousal. How easily fooled the body could be when the mind was in the proper mood.

How had he ever gotten to the point where he'd found Minerva McGonagall sexually attractive anyway? A few weeks ago he'd have laughed at the mere suggestion of such an absurd idea. Yet now…it seemed obvious and quite natural. It just went to show what a little experience can do for one's perceptions.

Their arrangement had arisen as a result of one of Albus' little beginning of the year gatherings. Every year, the entire faculty and staff was subjected to one of his "it's going to be a great year" pep talks followed by a feast of massive proportions, a sickening array of sweets, and many bottomless pitchers of free flowing liquor to wash the nausea that the lecture inspired out of their mouths. This year, he'd indulged just a wee bit too freely in the liquor as the evening had progressed. In his defense, he had to admit that the pep talk had been more nauseating than usual. Potter's name having come up no fewer than four times for some ungodly reason that made no sense at all.

Apparently, Minerva had overindulged as well, though why she'd find Potter's name so nauseating he couldn't say. Perhaps it had been something else entirely that had set her off. It hardly mattered. He had vague recollections of the two of them staggering down to the dungeons together after the rest of the faculty and staff had somehow managed to find their own way back to their respective rooms. Then things got a bit hazy until he'd come abruptly back to awareness flat on his back in the middle of his very rumpled bed with her body draped across him like a blanket…both of them completely naked.

How he'd ever let himself get that drunk in front of others, he still couldn't figure out. With so much at stake tied up in his reputation, he usually tried to be much more cautious, but there it was…and there she was. A bit late to be concerned about the reasons for his lack of sobriety at that point. Naturally, his first inclination had been to express his outrage. Yet, somehow, that desire had faded to nothing when she'd raised herself up off of his body and looked down at him.

When he'd found himself surrounded by a curtain of her dark silky hair, her flushed skin glowing in the warm soft light from the dying embers of the fire, her surprisingly lovely breasts suspended in front of his face…well, suddenly it had seemed like the most natural thing in the world to just shag her senseless instead of complaining about the compromising position that they'd found themselves in. And to his everlasting surprise, he hadn't regretted it for a moment. Who'd have thought that Minerva McGonagall would turn out to be the best lover he'd ever had? Though he had to admit, if only to himself, that his breadth of sexual experience was somewhat limited. No doubt due to a lack of opportunity caused mostly by severe constraints on his time and the pitiable fact that the majority of women he'd encountered in his life hadn't found him all that attractive. Not that that should take anything away from Minerva, of course.

In fact, as it turned out, both of them had found their shared experience to be too good to simply abandon after that one night. So, despite the possible difficulties, they'd continued to be lovers whenever the opportunity arose, and he'd made it a point to have it arise rather frequently. He'd been worried at first that she'd expect something more from him, some sort of cloying sentimentality, but to his surprise, she'd been the first one to insist on the understanding that their relationship would remain exactly as it had always been, with the addition of a strictly physical coming together whenever it was mutually desired. The best of all possible worlds. How could he refuse?

As he watched Minerva tighten her grip on Albus' arm and point something out to Madam Pince with an excited smile, he wondered why he'd never considered taking an older lover before this. Clearly, experience could make a very enjoyable difference in the bedroom, and Minerva possessed surprising stamina and considerable enthusiasm as well. He realized that he'd missed their liaisons intensely since he'd been confined here and vowed to do all that he could to see that they resumed as soon as possible.

Suddenly Minerva, along with her companions, jumped to her feet and began to cheer. He didn't even have to change the view to know that that insufferable idiot Potter had caught the snitch, probably right out from under Malfoy's aristocratic nose. He'd have to give some thought to a suitable punishment for the little brat…later. He watched as Minerva hugged Albus tightly and exclaimed excitedly to Madam Pince while they all began to descend from the stands. Her eyes were sparkling brightly and her face was attractively flushed.

A smug smile crossed her features just as she moved out of the line of sight of his fixed view, and Snape realized that she was most probably contemplating coming to collect her winnings. With a sigh and a discontented frown, he deactivated the scrying pool and sat back against his pillow. Too bad he was stuck here at the moment. The most exciting sex they'd had so far had happened following a rather heated argument over Quidditch. Well, apparently, he'd better prepare himself for an uncomfortable conversation when she arrived. Oh, yes, some sort of punishment for the young Mr. Malfoy was long overdue.

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The distance viewer had been emptied of water and was lying flat on the support table when Minerva entered the infirmary with a smile of triumph on her face.

"Severus, did the viewer work well for you? Did you enjoy the match?" she asked as she crossed the room to stand next to his bed.

The confined wizard stared up at her flushed features and sparkling eyes for a moment before answering. Obviously, she hadn't wasted any time coming here to rub it in. She was still wearing her cloak for goodness sake, though she had discarded that hideously unattractive hat that she always insisted on wearing.

"The viewer worked quite well, although it was rather slow to switch from one view to another at times which did make it a bit hard to follow the action. However, it was certainly preferable to hobbling over to the window and squinting into the distance in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the match from around the curve of the castle walls."

An amused smile crossed her face at the image his dry comment evoked.

"As for enjoying the match however…" His voice had become as brittle as autumn leaves. "Considering the outcome, I'm sure that you know the answer to that without my spelling it out for you."

"Surely there's more about a well played Quidditch match that holds your interest than whether or not your team wins," she said.

He snorted shortly. "I would question your applying the term "well played" to this particular match. Your Gryffindors were lucky. I found some of their aerial theatrics to be highly questionable myself."

Her smile vanished behind a sudden frown. "Questionable? Are you implying that you think my students cheated?" There was a warning in her tone.

Since there was no profit in actually getting her annoyed over this foolishness, he decided to heed it. "Of course not. If actual cheating had occurred, I'm sure that Hooch's eagle eye would've spotted it. Though, they did stretch the boundaries a few times. Potter is every bit the showboating flyboy his father was," he observed sourly.

"You're just annoyed because he managed to grab the snitch right out from under Draco Malfoy's nose," she exclaimed. "It's hardly Harry's fault if Mr. Malfoy can't spot what's hovering just beyond the end of his broomstick."

As he'd suspected! His frown deepened.

Minerva decided to change the subject. "I'm glad that the viewer worked out for you. I suppose that I should take it back up to Sibyll before she comes looking for it."

A look of alarm drifted across the captive patient's face as he contemplated getting a visit from the castle seer. "By all means, return it to her at once. Now that it's not needed as a viewer anymore, you could simply levitate it back up to her, couldn't you?"

Minerva sighed. "I wish I could, but she implied that if it required a complete recalibration upon its return that she might not loan it out to me again, and I've found it to be far too useful to take that chance. I'll manage it all right. I got it down here after all."

"I suppose so," he said with a vague look of speculation on his thin face.

"What is it?" she asked curiously. He was obviously turning something over in that devious mind of his.

"I was just wondering whether our resident clairvoyant might not make use of this pool as a viewer as well. Do you think it's possible that she might be spying on what goes on around the castle? She rarely drifts down out of that overheated lair of hers, yet she usually seems quite well versed in what's happening around the rest of the school. Of course, she implies that it's simply her all seeing inner eye, but perhaps it's really her all seeing magic mirror." He cocked his head and silently invited her opinion.

Her forehead puckered with a frown at this highly uncomfortable idea. If this was the case, then there were quite a few times over the last two months when they could have given Sibyll something really worth spying on. "Well, I certainly hope not. I suppose that it is possible, but surely she knows how inappropriate that sort of behavior would be? Still she could scan the common areas of the castle from time to time, I suppose. Oh, dear. It's not a very comforting thought, is it?" Her face had gone a little pale.

Snape could tell that Minerva was remembering their coupling in the hallway next to Flitwick's classroom…a memorable moment indeed. While he hoped that Trelawney hadn't been spying on them then, it was certainly too late to do anything about it now. A dark smirk twitched the corners of his lips. On the other hand, if she had been watching them, he hoped that she'd found the experience…educational.

Minerva shook her head. "No. Sibyll isn't known for her subtlety. If she'd seen us in the corridor, for example, I'm reasonably sure that she'd have found some way to have mentioned it to someone by now. It is something to consider for the future though."

Snape smirked. "Worried? I thought that Gryffindors were supposed to be fearless, not to mention occasionally reckless. That certainly was one of the outstanding attributes of a few other members of your stellar little group whom I could name."

A slight frostiness crept into Minerva's tone as she answered, "I'm quite sure that recklessness is not among the requirements, certainly stupidity isn't despite what you'd like to believe. We really should be more cautious in the future."

"Just like a Gryffindor to take all the fun out of something."

"Oh, so now I'm no fun, is that it? Well, if you wish to end our little arrangement, it's certainly your right to do so. Far be it from me to try to force you to participate in something that no longer gives you enjoyment." She gave him her very best prim and proper schoolmistress expression. It no longer fooled him however, he knew better.

In answer he grasped her by the arms and pulled her down across his body to lie next to him on the bed. "It's been hours, perhaps I should test things out just to be sure that I am still enjoying our…arrangement."

Before she could do more than open her mouth in surprise, he'd taken advantage of that and kissed her…long, slowly, and very deeply. After a rather long interval of heavy silence, Minerva untangled her hands from his hair and tried to untangle her body from his embrace. "Severus, Poppy could walk in at any moment. You really should let me up," she gasped reluctantly.

He released her with a smirk of satisfaction as he watched her try to hurriedly smooth her hair and clothing back into position as she got to her feet. Having the chance to fluster the usually so reserved Minerva on a regular basis was fast becoming an amusing and unexpected bonus of their little arrangement. "Where is Madam Pomfrey anyway? I expected that she'd return when you did, or even before."

"A minor altercation occurred between Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Weasley at the end of the match. There was an exchange of hexes, and some small injury resulted. Poppy was dealing with that while Albus dealt with the punishments. That left me free, for once, to return here and collect the viewer…and my winnings, which we've yet to discuss, by the way."

"Well, I hardly have five Galleons on me at the moment." He spread his hands widely and indicated his lean body, which was clad in pajamas and a lightweight dark blue bathrobe. Having been stuck here for more than a fortnight already…he'd long ago been able to discard the utilitarian and extremely ugly infirmary gowns for more comfortable attire.

"I'm well aware that you were unlikely to have the money on you at the moment, but I did want to discuss how I might obtain it…and how soon. I have a few new books that I've wanted to purchase for some time. Five Galleons will more than cover their price and possibly allow for a few extras as well."

"Well, if Madam Pomfrey will ever get off her high horse and let me out of here, I could pay you right away. But until I'm released, I'm afraid that you're out of luck. Unless you'd be willing to accept something other than money in payment."

She laughed. "Such as your body? Since I'm getting that anyway, it hardly seems a fair trade. I'm willing to wait for my winnings until you're let out of here. Poppy seemed to think that it wouldn't be long now anyway. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day."

"Really? That's more than she's let on to me."

"Probably because she knows that as soon as she tells you when she plans to release you, you'll immediately begin to complain that it should be sooner."

He shrugged. She had a point.

At that moment, the door to the infirmary opened and Poppy entered shepherding an angry looking Draco Malfoy, who was covered in rather unsightly weeping reddish spots.

"Wait here, Mr. Malfoy, and I'll fetch you the cream you'll need to apply to the weeping rash. That should take care of the problem very quickly."

Poppy looked quite disgusted as she crossed the room, sparing only a small glance for Snape and McGonagall as she headed off to her medical stores cupboard.

Snape straightened up and spoke to his unfortunate student. "Mr. Malfoy, I was quite disappointed to see how poorly the team played today. Are you in need of more practice time, do you suppose?"

Before Malfoy could answer, Minerva decided that now would be the perfect time for her to make her exit. So she hefted the scrying pool up into her arms and nodded to Snape. "I'm glad the viewer worked so well for you Severus. I'll see you later." Then she turned to the waiting student. "Mr. Malfoy, would you be so kind as to open the door for me, please?"

Malfoy looked a bit sullen, but he could hardly refuse the polite request of a teacher especially not under the already disapproving eye of his Head of House, so he nodded and moved across the room to open the door and hold it open as McGonagall made her exit. Once he'd closed it behind her, he reluctantly came back and stood next to Snape's bed as the Head of Slytherin glared at him darkly.

"Well, Mr. Malfoy? Do you have any excuse for your performance today?"

Since the true answer was no, Malfoy immediately fell back on his usual excuse. "It was all Potter's fault, sir. He doesn't play fair. He knocked me out of the way to grab the snitch. Hooch should've called a foul." His eyes shifted away from Snape's evasively, and Snape knew he was lying. The little brat knew that he'd played badly; he simply wasn't capable of admitting it…even to himself.

"No doubt that's true. It is also irrelevant. You're well aware of the sort of play that you can expect from the likes of Potter and his misbegotten teammates, Mr. Malfoy. This really shouldn't come as a surprise to you. What do you think you've been practicing for since the beginning of the year anyway? A garden party at the manor?"

Malfoy frowned and looked down to contemplate his shoes while his hands became rather busy scratching at the weepy rash that covered his arms and face.

"I think that the Slytherin Quidditch team is in severe need of some extra practice of their relevant skills. You will all report to Mr. Filch after dinner. He told me that he'll be mucking out the Owlery this evening, and I'm sure that he'd appreciate having some help. That should give all of you a bit more practice at handling the less pleasant aspects of life. Not to mention that the balance and coordination that it will take to physically scrub the rafters up there should help you to manage the handling of your brooms much more competently in the future. No magic is to be used tonight. Next week we will begin with an extra two hours of drill work down on the pitch. I will speak to Madam Hooch about obtaining the extra time you'll require. This was a pitiful showing today. The next time you fly about on your broom representing Slytherin, I'll expect a better result. Have I made myself clear?"

Malfoy had gone a bit pale at the low tone of his professor's voice, which clearly indicated a fair amount of suppressed anger. "Yes, sir. Shall I inform the rest of the team of tonight's…practice…then?"

"Yes. Do that."

Just then, Pomfrey returned with a tube of cream in her hand that she handed to Malfoy. "This should clear up that rash in no time. Apply it twice a day until the spots disappear. It should only take a day or two. Come back and see me if you have any more trouble."

Malfoy nodded and accepted the tube. Then he turned away from Pomfrey as if she wasn't even there and faced Snape once more. His face schooled into a subservient expression that wasn't matched by the gleam in his eyes. "Is there anything else, sir?"

Snape shook his head. "No, Mr. Malfoy. You may go." Then he watched as his arrogant student turned and walked out of the infirmary.


	3. A Logical Progression

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :)

**Chapter Three: A Logical Progression**

Irma Pince set her teacup carefully on the small table in front of her and glanced across at her friend as she sipped her tea. It was always nice to spend some time with Minerva McGonagall, and she was enjoying having a little break from her work in the library as well.

Minerva's sitting room, where they were currently seated, was a very pleasant room with the organized clutter of many, many years arranged around them. There was shelf after shelf full of books and knick-knacks, the souvenirs of a lifetime of travel and experience, all of which added to the homey atmosphere. A cheery fire burned in the grate in front of them, and the chairs in which they sat were comfortable and well used. After the brilliant warmth of the previous day, the weather had settled into a cold dreary rain much more common for the month of November, so the fire was much appreciated by both women.

"Did you enjoy the Quidditch match yesterday, Minerva? You seemed even more excited than usual when Mr. Potter caught the snitch right out from under the nose of Mr. Malfoy," asked the librarian with a smile.

Minerva smiled in return and nodded pleasantly. A glint of amusement lit up her eyes giving a very attractive look to her often rather severe face. "I thought it was a very well played match, and such a perfect day for it, too. All in all, I was very pleased. Of course, winning five Galleons from Severus, didn't hurt either."

Irma laughed at the mischievous expression on her friend's face. "Wagering with Professor Snape again, huh? You'd think he'd have learned by now that you almost always win when the two of you wager."

"You know, I don't think that's really ever occurred to him. He's so sure that his team should naturally come out ahead that he simply can't resist the urge to wager."

"Well, to be fair…Slytherin did win much more often before Mr. Potter took over as Gryffindor's Seeker," Irma suggested. "Yet for some reason, Professor Snape seems more willing to wager now that the young man's playing than he was before. It doesn't make sense to me. You'd think he'd have realized that Mr. Potter's playing has shifted the odds of Slytherin winning into the more unlikely column."

"I don't think that he'd agree with you, Irma. Harry's playing just makes Severus more determined than ever to make sure that his team is victorious. I don't pretend to understand what he truly thinks about this. Severus' thought processes are often a mystery to me. I just know that the odds of winning are distinctly in my favor, and that most likely Severus won't be able to resist wagering. All in all, it's tended to be a highly profitable situation for me." Minerva sipped her tea and flashed her friend a knowing look over the rim of her teacup.

The librarian laughed. "If I didn't know better, Minerva, I'd say that you were the Slytherin here, not Severus."

Her friend smiled smugly. "Simply because I'm willing to take advantage of a situation that's so clearly in my favor? Nonsense. That's only being practical…and thrifty."

Irma nodded and reached for a little lemon pastry from the dish that sat next to the tea service. "If you say so. How is Severus doing, anyway? I can't exactly say that I've missed his smiling face around the library since he's been laid up, but it has been strange not having him haunting the stacks at odd hours. Has his leg just about mended?"

"Yes, it has. I think Poppy will get him out of bed and let him try walking around on it later today or tomorrow. Not that that's soon enough for him."

"No, I imagine not. Poor Poppy. It's always so wearing on her to have him confined up there. He makes life so difficult for her at times," said Irma sympathetically.

"Well, it can't be easy for Severus either, you know. He's used to being so active and independent. Accepting help or admitting a weakness has always gone against the grain with him. Being confined has never been something he's been overly tolerant of. So you can hardly expect him to enjoy being forced to do nothing but lie around in bed for weeks at a time when he feels perfectly fine."

Minerva's tone was emphatic, and it surprised her friend a bit to hear her jump to Snape's defense so easily.

With a slight gleam of speculation in her eye, Madam Pince commented casually, "I have noticed that you've been spending quite a few of your evenings up in the infirmary playing chess with Severus since he was injured."

Minerva's hand trembled ever so slightly and her teacup rattled softly as she replaced it in its saucer and reached for a small cake. "I knew that Severus' injury would result in his being confined for some time and that that would be difficult for him…and for Poppy. After all, as Deputy Headmistress, it falls to me to see that things run as smoothly as possible for the staff. I've just been trying to keep Severus occupied for a bit and take a little of the pressure off of Poppy as well."

"Ah…of course." Irma nodded pleasantly as she watched her friend's face carefully, noting a sudden slight heightening of color. How interesting.

Still seeming slightly defensive, Minerva continued, "I haven't had the opportunity to play chess so regularly in a long time either. People get so busy around here. It was probably selfish of me to try to take advantage of Severus' captive status like that."

"Well, he must not have minded. He's not one to go along with something simply because someone else wants it."

Minerva smiled in agreement. "No. Most definitely not."

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When Minerva entered the infirmary, shortly after dinner that evening, she found Snape up on his feet and attempting to move around the room with the help of a stout ebony cane. His movements were still a bit stiff and awkward and a thin film of sweat coated his forehead. As she got closer, she could see that he was trembling ever so slightly from the exertion.

"I think that's just about enough for one try," exclaimed Poppy, who'd been watching her patient's attempts at moving on his own with a very careful eye. "As you can see, Severus, it's not quite as easy as you thought it would be. We have to approach this slowly. Still, I'm very pleased with the amount of progress that you've made here. When you were first brought in here with your leg torn open so severely, I thought you'd be laid up for a minimum of six weeks, but I'm thinking now that we'll have you out of here and back to teaching in four."

Snape's head snapped up and he glared at the matron in annoyance. "That's still more than another week away! Surely you can see that it won't take that long. I'm doing fine. I should be able to return to my quarters now and to my classroom tomorrow. I don't need to be able to stand and walk to teach effectively. It won't do the little miscreants any harm to have to bring their work to me."

Poppy placed her hands on her hips and glared right back at him. "Just who is the Healer here, you or me? I'm the one who makes medical judgments around here not you, and if you don't become a lot more cooperative, I'll be forced to keep you under my direct observations for much longer."

Snape was trembling now with fury in addition to fatigue. "This is outrageous! I've just proven to you that I can stand on my own two feet and move around without falling down. There's absolutely no reason to keep me a prisoner here any longer. I can just as easily rest in my rooms as here, and I'm fully capable of returning to my classroom as well. God only knows what a shambles it all is by now with Albus and Filius handling things. They've probably set my students back months in their studies."

"I hardly think that's likely, Severus," Minerva interjected as she came up to stand next to the irate matron. "Both Albus and Filius are highly qualified teachers, and they've been working directly from your lecture notes. Your students aren't suffering too much from your absence. They've been able to come to you directly if they've had any questions, after all. No one has banned them from the infirmary. Yet I haven't noticed a flock of them in here every day clamoring for your help."

Snape shot her a nasty glare. "That's probably because they don't even know enough to realize that they need help yet. I'm feeling much better. I've proven that I can move around under my own power. There's absolutely no reason for me to continue to have to stay here in this prison with bedpans. I want to go back to my own rooms. If you won't back me up on this, Minerva, then I demand to see Albus. I simply cannot continue to lounge around here in the infirmary. Others will begin to wonder about my fitness. That is not a wise thing to permit."

Minerva and Poppy exchanged uneasy glances. They were both well aware that Snape's usual duties extended far beyond the confines of his classroom.

Realizing that he'd scored a hit, Snape turned away from the women and headed back to his bedside. His trembling was increasing and before long it would be too difficult to hide how fatiguing it truly was to remain on his feet. So he felt that his cause would be better served if he continued his argument from a sitting position.

Poppy jumped forward to assist Snape back into his bed, ignoring his exasperated looks completely. She was also careful to take the cane from his hand and leave it just out of his reach against the neighboring bed.

When he'd settled in comfortably once more and opened his mouth to continue his argument, Poppy got her words in first.

"Severus, I do understand that life has many demands on you; however, you need to understand that I have a responsibility first and foremost to my patients' well-being. If you rush your recovery too fast, you're only going to have a relapse. Would it really do your reputation any good for you to collapse in your classroom in front of your students? Or possibly somewhere else in front of someone else?" she asked plainly.

Snape sighed and looked away from her to fasten his eyes on Minerva who was now standing quietly on the other side of his bed. "Poppy's right, Severus. You know she is."

When he opened his mouth to argue the point, she added, "However, you have a valid point as well." That stopped him cold.

Minerva turned to Poppy. "Wouldn't it be possible for Severus to go back to his quarters and rest there for a few days? You can still go and see him there, and I won't advocate allowing him to teach until you say he's ready, but his being in his rooms instead of the infirmary would be seen as a definite sign of progress. It would look better to anyone who's watching."

Poppy frowned and looked doubtful. "I suppose that it would be possible for him to go back to his quarters…but he'd need to have his activities carefully monitored." She turned back from the Deputy Headmistress to the Potions master. "I don't want you to think for a moment that letting you out of my sight means that you can be on your feet constantly trying to get well faster. If you do that you'll only exhaust yourself and end up right back up here. If you go back to your rooms, I expect that you'll rest, truly rest…off your feet. I'll set up a schedule of exercises you can do, and we can come to an agreement on how much time you can spend on your feet each day. If you're willing to abide by my guidelines, I'll allow you to leave and go back to your rooms. However, there'll be no teaching for at least another week."

Snape frowned darkly and considered his options. It would be better to be back in the privacy of his own rooms than to continue to appear the invalid here in the exposed openness of the infirmary. He'd already had to find a way to indicate his inability to attend the Dark Lord should he wish his presence. The answer that he'd received to his plea of being injured had worried him a bit. The longer he remained laid up here, the more likely he was to be viewed as a weakness and possibly more of a liability than an asset to Lord Voldemort. That wouldn't be good for anyone, least of all himself. At least if he was out of here, he'd appear to be improving…and he was sure that he could circumvent any arrangements Poppy would make, if necessary. Given half a chance, there were things that he could try that might hasten his recovery, but none of that could be accomplished if he remained here.

"Very well." He raised his head and stared at Poppy. "I will abide by whatever restrictions you put on me…within reason. And I will not push the issue of returning to the classroom immediately, but I must be allowed to return to the privacy of my own rooms as soon as possible."

Poppy nodded. "Tomorrow then…"

Snape shook his head. "No. Tonight. There's no reason why I can't spend tonight sleeping comfortably in my own bed."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Leaning on Poppy's arm and closely followed by Minerva, Snape entered his quarters for the first time in weeks and immediately felt a sense of relief. This was the only place within the castle that he ever felt completely safe and comfortable. With his extremely strong wards to watch his back and his possessions at his fingertips if he had need of them, this was very much his sanctuary, and it felt good to be back inside it again.

The infirmary was far too vulnerable a place to be, and being a patient there left him appearing to be far too weak a person. This would be a much better arrangement, even if he had to put up with daily visits from Poppy and the annoying presence of her house elf spy.

As both women were getting him comfortably situated in one of his wingchairs before the fire, he'd refused to get into bed immediately, a knock sounded on his door, which was quickly opened to reveal a smiling Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway.

"It's so good to see you back in your own quarters, my boy. Can I take this return to your rooms to mean that my days of teaching Potions are rapidly coming to an end?"

Poppy frowned. "Don't go giving him ideas, Albus. He's here under strict orders not to move too quickly. He's improved greatly, but he's not quite ready to return to teaching just yet. He needs to recuperate a bit more and gradually ease back into using that leg to support his weight. We've agreed that he can do that here as easily as in the infirmary, though."

"Excellent." Dumbledore beamed at them all.

Snape leaned back in his chair as Poppy fussed about getting his leg propped up on an ottoman. "What brings you down here, Albus? You obviously didn't know that I was returning to my rooms."

Dumbledore shook his head. "I had gone to the infirmary looking for Minerva actually. I found Winky changing the linens on your bed, Severus, and she told me that the three of you had come down here. So I followed along."

Minerva, who'd been watching quietly while standing beside Snape's chair now looked with interest at the Headmaster. "Why were you looking for me, Albus?"

"I just received an owl from the Board of Governors. They've decided that, considering all the turmoil we went through last year, it was probably time for them to do their own assessment of the workings of Hogwarts. I guess they figure that we're already used to the upset. So they're sending one of their number for a little visit. He or she, the letter didn't say which, will be here in a few days and will stay for a week or two assessing how things run around here. The letter implied that they were hoping to find ways in which they could assist us with our needs…once they determined what they were, of course."

All three members of his staff stared at him for a moment, then three identical expressions of suspicion blossomed at the same time. It almost appeared as if they were thinking with the same mind. Minerva was the first to speak.

"If they really wanted to be of assistance, they'd trust that you know how to run this school effectively, and that we're much more capable than they'll ever be of assessing our own needs. This just sounds like another attempt to play politics with the running of this school." She folded her arms across her chest and looked disgusted.

"Minerva's right, Albus. It sounds as if, now that the Ministry seems to be through trying to take over, the Board of Governors wants their turn. Who do you think they'll send?" Snape asked.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm not sure. The Board was a fairly supportive and consistent entity for many years, but since Lucius Malfoy was removed, there's been a fair amount of turnover in the positions. There have been a couple of new people appointed lately, and I haven't had an opportunity to meet them or even discover their names. Most likely, it will be one of them who will be given the job of coming and assessing our needs."

Poppy snorted and straightened up. "Our needs. I'll give you our needs. I could use a full-time assistant. I know that Irma needs a larger budget for library acquisitions. Every time I go in there looking for some books, I hear that they're out or missing or had to be deaccessioned because of excessive wear. Half the classrooms need new desks…I imagine there are a lot of supplies that need replenishing as well. Yet somehow, I doubt if that's what they'll be assessing."

"No," Minerva added. "That would actually be useful. I imagine, just as the Ministry did before them, they'll be assessing us. What are we teaching? How are we teaching it, and how can it all be turned to their advantage? The Board has generally been a fairly benign group, but they are political in nature. With so much up in the air at the Ministry of Magic with Fudge's resignation, and the search for a replacement, perhaps someone on the Board wishes to use Hogwarts as some sort of jumping off point for a campaign to take his place."

Dumbledore nodded. "I suppose that's a distinct possibility. Perhaps we'll discover just what's going on in a few days when their representative comes for his or her visit."


	4. A Cloud on the Horizon

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :)

**Chapter Four: A Cloud on the Horizon**

When Minerva knocked on Snape's door the following evening, she was a bit surprised to see him open the door himself instead of simply calling for her to enter as he'd been doing. He looked quite pale and slightly sweaty, but mostly he looked extremely aggravated.

"And what do you want?" he snapped. "Here to continue to fuss over the invalid? I swear I got more privacy in the infirmary than I've found right here in my own quarters."

"I take it that Poppy has been in and out a bit more than you'd prefer," she stated dryly.

"What we need at the moment is a nice epidemic or a nasty argument that got out of hand and resulted in some bloodshed. Something…anything…to give that infuriating woman something to do other than hover over me." He stepped back and let her walk past him into the room as he closed the door behind her.

She watched his movements carefully. The trembling that she'd seen yesterday didn't seem quite as pronounced today; though, it was by no means gone completely. "You seem to be managing pretty well with that cane. How is the leg feeling?"

"Fine! It's fine," he snapped in a surly tone as he limped back across the room and lowered himself less than gracefully into his chair by the fire.

Slowly, she crossed the room in his wake and sank into the chair that faced him. "Somehow I find myself not believing that, Severus. Why do you suppose that is?"

"I'd say it was probably because you're not a very trusting person, Minerva, but of course it may simply be me that you don't trust. You're always determined to think I'm deceiving you, aren't you?" He glared at her with irritation.

"Nonsense. Actually I trust you far more than most of the people that I deal with on a daily basis. However, you're acting defensive and hostile right now, and the only reason that I can see for you to be exhibiting that sort of behavior is that your leg is bothering you far more than you want to admit." Her sharp eyes watched him calmly as she awaited a response.

His lips tightened in vexation, and his eyes slid guiltily away from hers.

She nodded. "Right then. Now stop lying to me and tell me the truth."

He gave a snort and shook his head. "You're damned annoying, you know that."

"I can certainly return the compliment. Now how is your leg really feeling?"

His head fell back to rest against the back of his chair, and he gave a deep sigh of frustration. "It aches. I hate feeling weak. I hate it. And I can't afford it." He sat forward once more and brandished the cane at her. "This is a sign of weakness. I simply have to find a way to get rid of it as soon as possible, but the more I try, the more dependent I feel."

"You're overdoing it. Poppy warned you what would happen if you did. Your leg needs rest to get better, Severus, not more strain. Now, I came down here with the hope that we could play a game of chess; would you be willing to indulge me?"

A gleam of interest entered his dark eyes as he watched her carefully, leaned back, and nodded. "Yes. I had a feeling that that might be the reason you came. Your honor took a bit of a beating the last time we played. I could certainly use the satisfaction of beating you again."

As she got up and moved the small chess table away from its spot next to the fireside wall and positioned it between their two chairs, she frowned chidingly at him over the tops of her spectacles. "I wouldn't count too heavily on having that sort of satisfaction again. I've won most of the games that we've played together, and I fully expect that to continue."

Suddenly, he leaned forward and reached up to grasp her wrist tightly in his hand. "I wouldn't be overly certain of victory, Minerva. However, I will admit that there are other activities that we could pursue that would bring me more enjoyment at the moment." His low voice flowed over her seductively, its warmth bringing a slight flush to her cheeks.

She glanced down at him, and a delicious shiver ran through her body at the look simmering deeply in his eyes, but despite the temptation to do otherwise, she straightened up and pulled her wrist out of his hand with a pang of regret.

"I think that should wait until you're fully recovered, don't you?" Her voice sounded prim to her ears, as opposed to regretful, which was what she really felt.

"The only thing I'm having difficulty with is walking. As long as I'm not putting all of my weight on my leg, I'm not in any pain. Any activities that we pursued in the bedroom would not have to put any undue strain on my leg unless we wished them to. I've hardly been able to touch you since I ended up in the infirmary. Unless you've changed your mind about our arrangement, I think it's past time that it was renewed," he said with impatience.

"No, I haven't changed my mind," she stated softly.

A small smirk of satisfaction pulled at the corners of his lips. "Then perhaps you'd be willing to spend part of the night here with me. I know that you don't have any early classes tomorrow."

With a patient sigh, she smiled and tilted her head in inquiry. "And how often does Poppy have Winky checking on you during the night? What do you think she'd say if the elf reported back that you seemed to be doing fine, but was it really all right for you to be having sex with Professor McGonagall? Can you imagine Poppy's face? No, Severus. We'll have no privacy until Poppy has released you from her round the clock supervision, and she's already told you that she isn't ready to do that yet. We'll simply have to wait."

His voice simmered with frustration. "I tire of waiting. My whole life is taken up by waiting. Waiting for my leg to improve. Waiting to be allowed to resume my teaching duties. Waiting to get some semblance of normalcy back in my life. Waiting to be summoned. Waiting to say the wrong thing and reveal my true status to the Dark Lord. Waiting to slip up and reveal my true opinion of most of the people I'm forced to associate with around here. Waiting to get you back in my bed again. I've never been good at waiting."

A second shiver, this one deeper than the first, flitted through her as she listened to him express his impatience with having to wait to make love to her again. For some reason that she couldn't quite identify, that made her feel unexpectedly warm inside. Quickly, she dismissed that rather uncomfortable feeling and walked around the chess table to resume her seat on the other side…away from temptation.

So she wouldn't have to meet his eyes until she'd completely composed herself once more, she snatched two of the pawns off of the table and hid them in the palms of her hands, rolling them together gently, despite their squeals of annoyance. Then she raised her closed fists up to face him. "Do you call the right or the left?"

With a somewhat grumpy sigh, he shifted himself forward in his chair and eyed her hands carefully. "Right," he stated softly.

She opened her right hand to reveal Snape's pawn lying in its palm. "You get to start."

"About time something went my way," he grumbled as he retrieved the pawn and placed it on its square. She did the same, and they began to play.

Sometime later, things didn't look particularly good for Minerva on the chessboard, and Severus was clearly in a much better frame of mind than he'd been in earlier. As she was considering actually conceding the game, there came a knock on the door. Grateful for the interruption, Minerva rose to answer it while Severus sat back and glowered. "It must be Poppy. The house elf never bothers with the courtesy of a knock; she just pops in and begins to stare at me. Of course, Poppy doesn't always knock either."

Both were slightly surprised to discover that the door concealed neither Poppy nor Winky. Instead, Albus Dumbledore stood there and smiled faintly at the two of them.

"I hoped that I'd find the two of you here together. Then I could save myself a trip and a repeat of my news."

Minerva held the door open wider for her friend to enter. "What is it, Albus? Is there a problem?"

Instead of answering, Dumbledore pointed to the seat that Minerva had vacated to answer the door. "Perhaps you should sit down, Minerva. I think you'll find this surprising."

With a slight frown of apprehension, Minerva resumed her seat and the two of them stared inquiringly at their Headmaster.

"I've received another letter from the Board of Governors. Their representative will be arriving in the next couple of days. Apparently, he's traveling at the moment so they couldn't give me a definite arrival time. However, I was assured that it would be before week's end."

Minerva sighed. "Well, we knew it was coming. Perhaps it's best just to get it over with as soon as possible. Did they tell you whom they were sending? Is it one of the new people who've been appointed recently?"

Dumbledore nodded and looked slightly uneasy. "Yes, they did…and it is."

Minerva and Severus exchanged concerned glances. What was the problem? From his hesitant manner, it certainly seemed as if there was more going on than Dumbledore was saying.

Snape frowned with impatience. "Well, for Merlin's sake, Albus, spit it out. Who is it that's coming?"

"It turns out that the latest member of the Board is a former member of the Wizengemot, and so is not unknown to me, after all." He turned to Minerva with a look of sympathy. "Nor is he unknown to you."

Color leached from Minerva's face as if wiped off with a cloth. "Oh dear," she whispered softly. "Albus, you don't mean Ian?"

Dumbledore sighed and nodded. "Yes, my dear, I'm afraid that I do."

Snape turned his eyes from Dumbledore's concerned face to Minerva's suddenly frightened one and felt decidedly out of the loop. Obviously, this mysterious Ian was well known to both of them…now it was time for them to let him on the secret.

"Who is Ian? And why does his imminent arrival upset you so much, Minerva?" he demanded shortly. A deep frown creased his face as he watched Minerva sink within herself before his eyes.

The dazed witch didn't even seem to hear his question. Instead of answering, she simply continued to huddle in her chair as if someone was beating her with a bludgeon and chewed on her lower lip distractedly. How very unlike her. Sensing that no answers would be forthcoming from her, Snape raised his eyes to the Headmaster, hoping for a more informative reaction.

Dumbledore didn't disappoint; though, clearly, he didn't immediately offer all the information available either. "Ian Kyle Standish is a wealthy and prominent member of the wizarding community. As I mentioned, he used to be a member of the Wizengemot, but he retired fairly recently. He's still a member of many boards and committees at the higher levels of power. It appears that he was appointed a couple of weeks ago to the last remaining vacancy on our own Board of Governors."

Snape continued to watch Minerva closely. What on earth was wrong with her? As Albus had detailed Standish's involvement in wizard society, she'd been getting paler and paler. Now, before anything more could be said, she got unsteadily to her feet and addressed them both without looking at either of them.

"I just remembered something that I need to take care of. Please, excuse me, won't you?" Without waiting for an answer, she turned and headed for the door.

Not willing to just accept what was obviously a blatant lie, Snape called after her. "Surely whatever it is can wait until we finish our game, Minerva?" His voice was slightly sharper than he'd intended.

Reluctantly, she turned at the door and glanced back. "I'm willing to concede the game, Severus. You were only a few moves from winning anyway. Please, excuse me." Before she could be further detained, she opened the door and fled, closing it a bit more abruptly than she ordinarily would.

As the door slammed shut, Snape leaned back and sighed. Then he raised his head to Dumbledore and indicated Minerva's vacated seat. "Have a seat Albus. There's no way I'm letting you leave here without a bit more explanation. Why did Minerva react like that to the mention of Ian Standish's name? You'd think the man frightened her for some reason."

With a heavy sigh, Dumbledore sat down in the chair opposite Snape. "I probably shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but I hardly think it will remain a secret now. Ian Standish is Minerva's ex-husband."

It took a moment for that information to properly penetrate. How unexpected. "Her ex-husband? I had no idea that Minerva had ever been married."

"No. She doesn't advertise that fact, and it's really no one else's business anyway. The marriage was brief and over long ago. Minerva was barely out of school when they wed."

Something clicked and Snape nodded in understanding. If his supposition was true, all this would make a bit more sense. "It was an arranged marriage, then?" he asked.

This was a common custom amongst the wealthier purebloods of society. Minerva was as likely to be a victim of the practice as anyone, he supposed. Arranged marriages seldom ended in divorce though, a more common result was a mutual co-existence without intimacy. Such marriages might not have been sought by their participants, but they were a negotiated social contract that shifted power and wealth around within the community, and the families involved were seldom willing to back out of them. There were usually penalties involved that no one wished to incur, since they generally involved the loss of much coveted wealth. So it was interesting, and quite unusual, that Minerva's marriage had ended in divorce.

Dumbledore nodded and eyed his young colleague sternly. "Actually, I believe it was, but whether it was or not, it's not any of my business. Nor is it any of yours, Severus."

A warning. Not that he'd heed it if he needed the information, but for now it would be something worth pondering. No need to push the issue at the moment, certainly. Still, it was very interesting…and unexpected, and he knew that given the opportunity, he'd probably try to get the details from Minerva herself, if for no other reason than to satisfy his curiosity.

Realizing that he had information of his own to impart, Snape considered his companion thoughtfully. "Ian Standish doesn't seem like the type of person who would be Minerva's first choice for a husband, I will admit. In fact, I'm a little surprised that her family would have selected him. I've always had the impression that she came from a long line of uptight and, oh so honorable, Gryffindors. He doesn't fit the mold."

Ignoring the slight slur to his former house, which was, after all, a matter of habit with Severus, Dumbledore frowned in mild surprise. "You know Ian Standish?"

Snape leaned back and considered Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Not personally, but I know of him. His family is rather of the same breed as the Malfoys, actually. With some of the same connections, if you get my meaning."

"Severus, are you trying to tell me that Standish is a Death Eater?"

"No. Not really…not formally…but he does have a more subtle connection to the Dark Lord. Ian Standish is a backer, a supporter in less obvious ways. His influence on the Wizengemot was occasionally useful to the Dark Lord. Now, as a member of the Board of Governors, it appears he's useful again. It would actually be counterproductive to have such a man marked for the world to know his sympathies. This way works out far more neatly."

Dumbledore looked troubled. "I had no idea that Standish was involved with Voldemort."

"Then you see my point. Actually, the involvement is fairly low key, I believe, but I do know that he has contributed quite a lot of money to various enterprises that the Dark Lord wished to bring to fruition, both before his previous downfall, and since his resurrection. I've never met the man myself, but his name has come up once or twice within my hearing. To my knowledge, he's never been involved in a big way, yet I imagine that could change at any time, should Lord Voldemort wish it to change."

"I'm glad to have this information, Severus. Though, it would have been useful to have had it a bit sooner."

Snape shrugged. "I had no idea that it would be important to you for any reason. Ian Standish is simply a name that's come up in passing. Had he been seriously involved in any of the Dark Lord's plans, you know that I would have mentioned it."

"Yes. I'm sure that's true, but it does illustrate why it's important for even the most insignificant scrap of information to be passed on. So much can be missed because some tiny bit of information goes unnoticed by the people who need to know."

Perceiving a slight, Snape's expression darkened. "Do you now wish to have me spout off every piece of information in my head beginning with my first memories of drooling and teething? How many hours are you willing to devote to this fascinating exercise? Shall I start now then? When I was three, I vividly remember almost being run over by a Muggle lorry when my foolish excuse for a mother took me…"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "Thank you, Severus, but you're right. I don't really have the time to devote to this recitation that I'm sure it would deserve. I suppose we shall have to simply muddle along the way we've been going."

Dumbledore stood up and looked down on the frowning figure of his Potions master. "If any more information concerning Ian Standish and his connections to the Dark Lord comes your way, Severus. Please, notify me at once. It's possible that we should be concerned that his visit doesn't merely represent some politicking by the Board, but has some significance in our struggle with the darkness as well."

"There's always a new plot on the horizon, isn't there? Don't worry, Albus. If I hear anything, you'll be the first to know. Of course, I'd be more likely to be in a position to learn something useful if I weren't being held prisoner in my own quarters. I am fit to return to my teaching duties now. Couldn't you hurry Poppy along, or better yet, simply order her to allow me to go back to work? I can teach while seated, you know."

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I'm sure you can, and I will speak to her on your behalf. Perhaps we can let you try a reduced schedule by the end of the week."

"Reduced! There's no need to…" Snape stopped when he got a good look at the expression on his employer's face. No point in wasting his breath here. "Oh, very well. However, I will soon be proving that I'm as capable as I always was."

"I'm sure you will. Now, get some rest, Severus. I'll talk to you tomorrow." With a final benign smile, Dumbledore turned and left the room leaving Snape alone by the fire with his thoughts.

As the door closed behind the Headmaster, Snape's frown lightened slightly into a smirk, and he remarked to himself, "A pity that I wasn't allowed to finish expounding on my memories for you, Albus. I would have liked to have seen the look on your face when I got to a detailed description of what your Deputy Headmistress and I got up to after your little beginning of the year pep talk. I'm sure that you'd have been extremely gratified to discover how much we took your little lecture on togetherness to heart."

His expression sobered, and a haunted look flitted quickly in and out of his eyes. "Of course, you realize that I could never actually tell you everything that's hidden in the recesses of my mind. Some things must remain…private..." He shook himself sharply. "It certainly appears that Minerva has her own selection of secrets that I, at least, was not aware of. Perhaps a look into a pensieve full of her memories would have been more interesting than I thought it would be. Married to Ian Standish. How surprising."

Snape turned and stared off into the fire with a considering yet vaguely troubled expression on his thin face.


	5. Echoes From The Past

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Five: Echoes From The Past**

Caught in the grip of a confused haze, Minerva slowly stumbled her way up out of the depths of the dungeon. She took three wrong turns before finding her path to the main staircase; something that would be unthinkable under other circumstances, but her mind felt frozen, unable to function as it normally did. Paying proper attention to her surroundings seemed to take more effort than she could muster with her thoughts so full of the past.

Hot burning pain licked at her back, accompanied by angry voices and churning emotion. Shivering, she hunched her shoulders protectively and forced it back and moved onward. Her fumbling hand slid along the welcome coolness of the stone wall at her side. For a moment, she paused and embraced it, pressing her forehead to the rough, slightly damp surface. Knowing its cool reality for what it was…an anchor.

A woman's cold voice echoed in her ears…"It's too late, my lady…it's too late…be sensible."

Minerva shook her head sharply to rid her mind of that voice. How she'd hated it. So many years had gone by yet she could hear it still…as clear as yesterday…as clear as forever.

Bright sharp shards of memory spun around and thrust themselves up through her mind, leaving jagged pulsing holes where they somehow managed to escape from the bindings with which she'd held them prisoner for so long. She was at sea in a confusing buzz of voices and images. Desperately, she sought to end the chaos…to reestablish the order of decades.

Halfway up the staircase to the ground floor, reality returned with a trembling lurch as she finally forced her way out of the enveloping snare of her mind. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, blinking her dazed eyes to clear away the disturbing visions of the past.

"No…" whispered a voice in her ears…scratchy and unrecognizable as her own. "I won't do this. I won't allow this to happen. I won't. I'm stronger than this. The past is dead and gone. It will not overtake me again. I will not let it." With each word, her voice strengthened and her resolve returned.

Step by step, Minerva climbed the staircase up out of the gloom of the dungeon and the panicked quagmire of her thoughts. Severely chastising herself for allowing her memories to run away with her like this, she tried once more to bring order and rationality to her thoughts. Ian Standish was not worth unleashing the pain of the past over. Thankfully, he was no longer a factor in her life. No matter what had been true in the past, he held no power over her any longer. Surely there was no reason to panic at the mere thought that he was coming here.

Seeing him again would be unpleasant, certainly, but it should hardly be a traumatic event. She was a grown woman with an independent life and far too many responsibilities, and here she was becoming overwhelmed at the very thought that her ex-husband might show up at her door again. It'd been almost fifty years for goodness sake! In all that time, their paths had crossed only twice, and thankfully those times had largely passed without incident. So why assume that it will be any different this time? Why was his coming here hitting her this way?

A pang of concern drove deep. Perhaps because this meeting was so unexpected while she'd been warned well in advance of the others. Also, perhaps because this time they wouldn't be able to avoid each other so easily. They couldn't get by with simply nodding coldly to each other across a crowded room and then going their separate ways. This time, they'd have to speak. If he came here to evaluate the teaching at Hogwarts, they'd have to interact; it couldn't be avoided.

A sudden realization caused her step to falter. Ian was going to come into her home and interfere with the very heart of her life, and heaven help her, once more he'd have power over her…something she thought she'd escaped from for good.

Once the initial shock began to ease, she crossed the thankfully empty entrance hall and began to make her way up the main staircase towards her rooms. As she climbed higher and higher, her steps became more deliberate, her eyes, more able to focus on the external. Yet the nagging worries wouldn't quite let go…no matter how much she tried to reason them away.

Surely there was no point in her getting so worried over this. He wasn't coming to see her. The fact that she was here was merely coincidental. Wasn't it? Doubt pricked at her mind. Why would Ian suddenly take a position on the Board of Governors? If she remembered correctly, one was offered to him years ago, and at that time, he'd turned it down. Hogwarts held no interest for him then. There wasn't any profit in it. So what had changed? The Ian she remembered wouldn't have been likely to change his mind unless there was some advantage to himself in it. So what was it?

Of course, it wasn't outside the realm of possibility that what had changed were his priorities. Being a member of the Board of Governors for Hogwarts was a very prestigious position. Certainly there was no denying that fact. Perhaps he'd taken the job simply for power and image, and as a substitute for that which he might have felt he'd lost when he resigned from the Wizengemot. That certainly wouldn't be out of character.

Yet even if that was true, why would he allow them to appoint him to the no doubt thankless task of doing an evaluation of the school? Surely Ian would have been capable of seeing that this rather tedious assignment was given to the other new member of the board instead of to him, unless there was a reason that he wanted it for himself. Could that hypothetical reason have anything to do with her?

Minerva paused at the head of the fourth floor staircase and frowned. If Ian Standish was coming to Hogwarts there had to be a reason for it…other than the publicly stated one. There wasn't anything hypothetical about it. There was always a personal angle for Ian…something to gain. The sorting hat might have placed the man in Ravenclaw, but she'd always bet that if it had had another shot at him, once he'd fully matured, it would have been obvious that that wasn't where he really belonged.

Still feeling highly unsettled, though more in control than she'd felt when she'd begun her journey upwards, she began to walk down the quiet main corridor on the fourth floor. The staircases rumbled loudly behind her as they went through a flurry of readjustment. Not feeling up to playing their games at the moment, Minerva had decided that the most direct route to the privacy of her rooms probably lay through using the less flighty back stairs. However, before she'd managed to take more than a few steps past the library doors, a familiar voice called her back. Ordinarily she'd have been glad to hear the voice, been happy for the distraction, but not now…not tonight. Reluctantly, she stopped and turned back to face Irma Pince.

The librarian sighed as she came out of the library and locked the door behind her. Then she turned and headed up the hallway to meet up with her friend. "Good heavens, it's been a long day, hasn't it? I really need to sit down and get off my feet for awhile." She cocked her head and smiled.

"So who won the game tonight?" Irma asked pleasantly.

"Game?" The question made no sense to Minerva at all.

Irma looked surprised. "Yes, the chess game. Weren't you going to play with Severus this evening? I thought that's what you told me at dinner." Suddenly she really looked closely at her friend and frowned in concern at what she saw. "Minerva, are you all right? You look a little pale and, oh, I don't know, distracted maybe…upset. Did something happen? Did you and Severus have an argument? Goodness knows he's been in a foul mood for weeks."

A strange expression crossed Minerva's face as she struggled with an answer. How could she have forgotten that she'd told Irma about playing chess with Severus? This news about Ian was obviously still unsettling her more than it should be. "Oh, of course. Please, forgive me; my mind was on other things. No, we didn't argue. There's nothing wrong, Irma. I'm fine. Certainly there's nothing for you to be concerned about. I'm just a little tired that's all. As a matter of fact, I did go and play chess with Severus this evening. We just finished, and I was on my way back to my rooms when you caught me." She paused and finished awkwardly. "He won."

Doubtfully Irma nodded. "I see. Are you sure that you're all right? Because you don't…"

Minerva cut her off impatiently. "I told you that I'm fine. I'm just tired, that's all. Nothing to be concerned about."

"Okay." Startled by the obvious rebuke in her friend's tone, Irma decided not to argue. Perhaps a different tack would work better. "It's been a long day for everyone, I suppose. Would you like to come to my rooms for a nightcap? It might help you to relax."

And give you a chance to grill me some more? thought Minerva shrewdly. "No. Thank you, but not tonight. I have some essays that I still need to grade, and then I think I'll go to bed early. As I said, I'm really rather tired." She edged a couple of steps further down the hall.

"All right. Then I suppose I'll see you tomorrow. Are we still on for tea at the usual time?"

"Yes. Fine. I'll see you tomorrow then. Good night." Without waiting for a response, Minerva spun around and began to walk briskly up the corridor and out of sight. Leaving a rather perplexed Irma Pince to stare after her and wonder what the heck she was missing.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Feeling every bit as tired as she'd professed to her friend, Minerva finally attained the sanctuary of her rooms. Once she'd managed to escape inside, she leaned back gratefully against the closed door. There were simply too many things to think about and none of them made the slightest bit of sense. A drink. What she really needed was a good stiff drink. Where had she put that bottle of whisky that she'd picked up over the summer and hadn't had occasion to touch yet? After getting so royally plastered at the beginning of the year that she didn't even remember going to bed with Severus, she'd pretty much given up drinking for awhile so she had to think for a moment to figure out where she'd stored it.

Not that their little liaison hadn't worked out all right in the long run. Well, more than all right actually, she considered with a faint smile, but it had still been quite a shock at the time. Waking up in his bed that way…on top of him…both of them absolutely naked. It was still a bit hard to believe, even after all that they'd done together since then. A shiver coursed through her, she really wasn't comfortable with losing control that way. It wouldn't do to make a similar mistake now either. So perhaps a drink wasn't what she really needed, after all. No. What she really needed was answers…explanations. Reassurances that whatever Ian was coming to Hogwarts for, it had nothing to do with her.

Slowly, she moved away from the door and waved the standing candles into flame. Then she started across the room to draw the drapes against the cold darkness outside, but before she got more than a few steps away, there came a knock, summoning her back. With a frown she turned and considered the door. It was probably Albus…or Severus. No, climbing all the way up here just to satisfy his curiosity was probably a bit beyond Severus at the moment. He'd be much more likely to simply show up in her fireplace demanding answers. Definitely Albus…good. Odds were good that he knew more than he'd told them downstairs, perhaps he could supply a few of the answers she sought.

With determined steps, she re-crossed to her chamber door and flung it open to reveal the tall figure of the Headmaster framed in the doorway, a slightly nervous expression shining in his eyes.

"Ah, Minerva. I'm glad I found you here. I wasn't quite sure where you'd gone when you left us."

"You could've told me in private, you know." She tossed accusing words at her friend without even waiting to invite him inside.

"Yes." Dumbledore nodded in agreement. "Perhaps that would've been wiser since I wasn't sure just how you'd feel about Ian's coming here, but it had been so long since you'd seen each other, at least as far as I knew, that I hoped that the information wouldn't turn out to be too much of a shock for you. However, I can see that I was wrong about that. Can you forgive me?"

With a sigh, she stepped back and ushered him into the room. "Let's discuss this inside, shall we?"

He nodded and entered the room, crossing to the davenport in front of the fire. She closed the door firmly and followed him. Then the two of them sat down together.

As she settled onto the cushions, she glanced uneasily at her companion. "I suppose you had to explain to Severus why I seemed upset at the idea of Ian Standish coming to Hogwarts." Why did that thought make her so uncomfortable?

Dumbledore nodded. "He was understandably curious about your reaction."

A sigh escaped her. "Yes, he would be. He always has to know everything that goes on around here, and this would be information that had never come his way before. Well, I can't do anything about Severus, but at least he's not a gossip. If anything, he hoards secrets like gold. I would like to keep my past relationship with Ian from becoming public knowledge and the topic of idle speculation and whispering, if at all possible, though."

Dumbledore reached over and took her hand in his, patting it reassuringly. "I certainly have no plans to announce it at dinner, Minerva, but once Ian's here, I can't control what he might tell people. Would it really matter that much if the truth got out? Your marriage to him was over more than forty years ago. That's a very long time, and surely it has no bearing on his coming here now."

Minerva's eyes clouded with concern once more. "Oh, I hope not. Simply hearing his name again after all this time brought…memories…swimming to the surface that I thought I'd buried for good. I truly hoped that I'd never have to see him again, Albus, and I can't help but wonder what's really bringing him to Hogwarts now. Why would he suddenly take a position on the Board of Governors of a school that he's never had any use for since he graduated from it? He didn't even send his sons here, preferring private tutoring. Not that I'm complaining about that, certainly, but still it's indicative of how much interest he's had in Hogwarts over the years. So I'm understandably suspicious of his motivation for this visit."

Dumbledore nodded. "I think you might be quite wise to be suspicious. Though perhaps his motivation might not be exactly what you've been concerned about. Severus had some interesting information of his own about Ian."

"Severus knows him?" Surprise tinged her voice. That possibility had never occurred to her.

"Not personally. However, Severus has heard him mentioned in passing, in circles that we had no idea he frequented. It seems that Ian Standish is a supporter of Voldemort. Apparently, he's served as a minor financial backer, for ventures in which Voldemort has had an interest, on more than one occasion."

"Oh dear," whispered Minerva softly as she pressed her fingers to her lips. "I don't know why that possibility never occurred to me, but it didn't. Is Severus sure?"

"He appeared to be, but he didn't know any actual details of Ian's involvement in Voldemort's plans. Personally I've never liked the man, knowing how he treated you during your time together, but I have had relatively close and superficially cordial dealings with him through our mutual involvement in the Wizengemot. Yet his involvement in Voldemort's affairs comes as a surprise to me. I'm usually better able to judge people than that. He certainly never gave me any reason to suspect that his feelings ran in that direction, though, and considering his influential position, it's very concerning. Both that he leans that way…and that I missed seeing it completely."

"You shouldn't blame yourself too much, Albus. Ian only let's you see what he wants you to see. He's a very shrewd man…and very careful. In the end, he almost always gets what he wants. Almost. That's primarily why I'm worried. He wouldn't be wasting his time coming here if there wasn't something personal to be gained by it. He's more than clever enough to have found a way to avoid taking on this job unless it had some advantage to him."

The Headmaster nodded and regarded her sympathetically. "And you're concerned that whatever his reason is, it might have something to do with you."

"I suppose that's a bit egocentric of me after all these years, and yet I can't dismiss it completely. Although after what you've told me, it could just as easily, and perhaps even more likely, have something to do with the dark plans of…Vol...demort." She stumbled a bit over the name, still not having the confidence to utter it aloud, but knowing that Albus preferred them not to give that creature's name excessive power over them, she was determined to try.

A somber expression graced Dumbledore's features. "Yes, I shall have to spend a bit of time looking into the current affairs of Mr. Ian Standish, I'm afraid. Since I sincerely doubt that he'll tell me up front exactly what has brought him to Hogwarts, it's going to take a bit of digging to ferret out the truth. Please, try not to worry though, Minerva. There's surely nothing that he can do to cause you any difficulties after all this time."

"I truly hope you're right, Albus," she whispered softly, though she couldn't quite suppress a shiver.


	6. Reminders

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. ****

**Chapter Six: Reminders**

From the depths of a cozy armchair, Minerva sat and sipped her tea and listened somewhat distractedly as Irma went on about her plans to purchase herself a familiar.

"I've always wanted a cat, but the castle is so overrun with them that I hesitate. An owl is certainly practical, but it's, by nature, not terribly cuddly, and I do think I want something to cuddle up with me occasionally. Something willing to share a little warmth and affection. What do you think, Minerva? Should I get a cat or an owl?"

She peered at her friend expectantly, and Minerva peered back, guiltily realizing that she hadn't actually been paying any attention at all to the substance of the conversation.

"Uh…I'm not sure," the Deputy Headmistress temporized.

Irma laughed shortly and took a sip of her tea. "Well, that's not exactly helpful. If neither of us can decide, how am I ever to choose?"

"I'm sorry." This was getting embarrassing. She had to stop her mind from wandering off on its own. It was only getting her into trouble and was certainly solving nothing.

"Oh, that's all right." Irma waved a hand dismissively. "I think I've pretty much decided that I'm going to get a cat anyway. As I said, I won't get the same sort of affection from an owl, and I really seldom need the services of a messenger anyway. After all, I can always use one of the school owls, if I need to."

"True. Though cats aren't always the most affectionate of animals," Minerva admitted reluctantly.

Irma smiled. "Well, I'm sure that you'd know much more about that than I would, but they'd have to be better than a toad or a rat." She shivered with distaste.

Then, taking a good look at her friend's pale face, the librarian sat back, frowning slightly with concern. "Minerva, what is the matter? And don't tell me nothing. I'm not blind. You were upset last night, and you're still upset today. After knowing you for all these years, I can certainly tell when something's bothering you. I know you said that you and Severus didn't argue, but you've been spending an awful lot of time with him lately; and arguing comes as naturally as breathing to that man. Are you sure that you haven't had a disagreement about something?"

Minerva shook her head. "No. I have not had an argument with Severus, nor with anyone else. I'm fine, really I am. I'm just a little concerned about this representative from the Board of Governors who's coming to inspect us. After all the trouble we had last year with Dolores Umbridge, and the constant decrees from the Ministry of Magic, I'm simply a bit wary."

Irma nodded. "Yes, I've heard that they're sending someone to look us over. Honestly, you'd think we were prized animals being fattened up for slaughter. I just hope that this time those inspecting us truly want to help us succeed instead of simply trying to make us fail so they can swoop in and take over."

As Minerva nodded in agreement, a harsh voice suddenly whispered in her ear, "If it turns into another failure…I suppose that the best that I can hope for is that she doesn't survive this time." With a slight gasp, the startled witch sat up straighter and shook her head to clear it.

Guiltily, she glanced at her companion, but Irma was reaching for a tea cake and hadn't notice her friend's momentary distraction. "Will the person from the Board of Governors be inspecting the classes the way that Umbridge did?" Irma asked curiously, as she made her selection and looked up once more.

Forcing her attention back to the conversation, Minerva struggled to answer. "Uh…I don't actually know, but I assume so. The man will be here for a couple of weeks apparently, so I'd certainly imagine that he'd want to observe classes. Albus wasn't really given any particulars as to what form the inspection will take. I'm not sure that he knows himself."

"Do you know who they're sending?" Irma asked curiously.

She'd been afraid that this question would come up. How should she answer? Honestly, but as briefly as possible, would probably be the best choice.

"Yes. Albus received a letter yesterday. The representative who's coming is a man named Ian Standish."

Irma frowned in consideration. "Never heard of him. Well, I suppose that we'll find out what he's like soon enough."

Hands tightened around Minerva's throat…squeezing tightly with rage. A roaring redness blanketed her vision.

"Minerva?" A voice penetrated her consciousness and brought her abruptly back to the here and now with a lurch.

"What?" she asked faintly as she raised a hand to toy with the lace collar at her throat.

"I said, I suppose that we'll find out what this Ian Standish is like soon enough," repeated Irma with concern.

"Yes. I suppose we will," agreed Minerva softly, though she prayed that no one here would ever really have to know what he was like.

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With hesitant steps, Minerva approached Snape's door a bit reluctantly. If she could've gotten out of coming this evening, she would have. However, she knew that he'd be expecting her, and if she didn't show up there was a very good chance that he'd just find some way to track her down. Then he'd be annoyed on top of everything else, so there really wasn't much point in trying to avoid him.

She wasn't looking forward to the conversation though. What were the odds that Ian's name wouldn't come up within the first five minutes of her visit? Not worth betting on, that's for sure.

Oh, well, she was here now. Might as well get it over with. She raised her hand and knocked firmly on the door. It was barely a breath before the door opened, and Severus stood there staring at her. He must have been waiting for her in order to answer that swiftly.

The Potions master smiled a knowing smile. "Ah, Minerva. I wasn't sure that you'd come this evening." He stepped back and gestured for her to enter his rooms.

She stepped inside and waited for him to close the door behind her. It was obvious why he hadn't been sure that she'd come; she almost hadn't, after all, but she'd be damned if she was going to make it too easy on him by asking why he'd think that. Instead, she thought she'd try an opening gambit of her own.

"You're looking very well this evening, Severus." And indeed he was. He seemed to be moving much more easily. No more sweat beaded skin, no more tightly drawn mouth and ashen lipped face. In fact, he looked very relaxed and well rested. Much more like his old self.

For the first time since he'd been injured, he was actually dressed. Instead of pajamas and a dressing gown, he wore dark slacks and a white button down shirt. Not his usual more formal attire, granted, but surely a step up from what he'd been forced to live in for the last month.

"May I assume from the fact that you're wearing day clothes that you've been up and around all day today?" she asked pleasantly.

He inclined his head and stepped closer. "You may indeed. Poppy has finally seen the light, thanks to Albus' intervention, I believe. I have been approved to return to a reduced teaching schedule beginning tomorrow." A small frown crossed his face as he uttered the word reduced.

"That's wonderful. I'm sure that you must be very happy about that. What is Poppy allowing you to manage?"

His frown deepened, and his voice echoed his contempt. "I'm to be allowed to teach half days for the remainder of the week. Then she said that she'd reevaluate. She won't find anything to complain about though, no matter how hard she looks. I feel perfectly fine. I'd be well able to handle a full class load if she wasn't so overly cautious."

Minerva smiled in understanding. "Poppy just doesn't want you to overdo it. It's better to be a little cautious after all than for you to end up back in the infirmary."

His face twisted into a grimace. "I suppose so," he muttered ungraciously.

Minerva turned away from him and walked over to the chess table, which stood ready and waiting, between their two chairs by the fire. "Shall we play then? I've been in need of a diversion all day."

Snape crossed over to stand beside her. "Yes, I imagine you have been. The news that your ex-husband would be joining us shortly for a little visit did seem to unsettle you a bit. Are you concerned about seeing him again?"

She hadn't even gotten to sit down. How typical. Severus wasn't one to waste any time when he desired to know something. Resignedly, she turned and faced him again, noting the curious and speculative look on his face. "I was actually more concerned about the fact that you'd heard his name come up during your time with…Voldemort." It did seem to get easier with practice, she noted, pleased that she'd managed to say the name without hesitation this time.

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "Yes, that is a cause for some concern. It opens up other possibilities when one is trying to decide just why he's coming here. However, you were upset at the merest mention of his name, Minerva. Don't try to pretend that it's his dealings with the Dark Lord that were distressing you. That information never came up before you ran out of here last night."

Minerva's eyes slid away from his, and she stared uncomfortably into the fire. "I'm not exactly looking forward to seeing Ian again…no. It's been many years since we've seen each other, and we didn't part on the best of terms. Frankly, I hoped that I'd seen the last of him. It was a bit unsettling to discover that I'm wrong about that."

"Your marriage was an arranged one?" he asked quietly, still watching her carefully.

With a shiver, she nodded absently, while the answers came to her lips unbidden as yet more memories of the past unfurled themselves for inspection. "Yes. That's often the way it was…especially in those days. I was the only child of a well placed landed family. I knew that I wouldn't have much, if any, say in whom I ended up marrying, and I didn't. Ian Standish was my father's choice. He and Ian's father were friends; their estates bordered each other's. To them, it seemed like a natural fit."

Snape frowned speculatively. "Yes, I suppose it would. How long were you married?"

"Six years," she whispered. "Six horribly long years."

"Most arranged marriages survive because, even though the participants do not love each other, the families would lose too much if the union was dissolved. Yet yours did not. Why not?" Curiosity tinged his voice as he cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow…waiting.

Pulling herself back from the painful images that filled her thoughts, Minerva turned and stared into his eyes uneasily for a few moments, then she pressed her lips together firmly and straightened her spine. "That's none of your business, Severus. My marriage is my affair. It's not something that I wish to discuss."

Dismissing the subject firmly, she then turned and seated herself in front of the chess table. "Are we going to play or aren't we?"

Snape looked at her sitting there with all her defenses raised, and decided to take another tack to breach them. Slowly, he moved to stand behind her chair. Raising a hand, he let his fingers trail down along her rigid cheek and jaw to delicately fondle the soft skin of her neck. Then he slipped one long finger beneath the neckline of her robe and lightly traced a fingertip along the length of her collarbone.

"We can play chess if you wish…or we can simply…play…instead," he said softly.

A shiver coursed through her at his touch, and she licked her suddenly dry lips; slowly, she turned her face and looked up at him as he bent over her. "I thought we'd agreed…" she began.

The intensity of his voice increased. "We agreed to nothing. You told me that it would be best to wait until Poppy had removed the constant supervision of the house elf. Since I had no interest in being observed under those circumstances, I acquiesced to your plea. However, circumstances have changed. Poppy has agreed that I am no longer in need of being watched. So my quarters are once more…private. No one will be spying on us tonight if we wish to resume our arrangement."

"I see," she murmured softly. Her heart began to beat faster, and her breath caught at her throat.

Snape's other hand released his cane to lean against her chair and dropped down to caress her shoulder as the one that had been tracing her collarbone slid lightly up her throat, resting easily there while the tip of his index finger traced the line of her jaw with a delicate touch.

Without warning, she found herself feeling smothered by that restraining hand, however lightly it held her, and she gasped slightly and pulled back. In the back of her mind, it was suddenly another hand that held her throat…that touched her skin…that suffocated.

"Perhaps we'd better stick to chess this evening, after all," she whispered in a slightly strangled tone.

But Snape had had enough of chess. Abruptly, he shoved the table to the side sending the pieces flying and eliciting another gasp from her as he moved to kneel in front of her and grabbed her firmly by the arms. With a single pull, he had her out of the chair and down onto her knees on the floor beside him. In a move filled with impatience, he pulled her roughly against his chest and proceeded to kiss her breathless.

When, after a time, he pulled back slightly, she tried to swim up out of the mire of conflicting sensations that had hold of her, but she wasn't able to find purchase in reality. With no clear recollection of getting there, she suddenly found herself lying flat on her back on the floor while he hovered over her, his lips trailing down her throat, his fingers sliding possessively over her body, claiming it once more for his own, while undoing the fastenings of her robes to allow him the access he truly desired.

His low voice cajoled her softly. "It's been over a month since we've been able to indulge in our little arrangement, Minerva. I was under the impression that you had enjoyed it as much as I had. Yet now that I'm healthy once more, and free of that goggle-eyed elf's infernal spying, you want to do nothing more than play chess? Have you forgotten what it was like in that span of time? Must I refresh your memory?"

His nimble hands had opened her robes and now drew them down off of her shoulders, exposing more smooth fragile flesh for his lips to explore. She tried to move her arms, but the heavy material held them prisoner. His weight pinned her down and held her captive to his advances.

Closing her eyes, she shivered at the intense feelings he was stirring within her with his actions. Her breath began to come in gasps as her pulse sped up in time to her increasingly swift heartbeat.

"Severus," she murmured, unsure whether she meant to plead for him to stop or to urge him onward. Her voice drew him back to her face, which he cupped in his strong fingers as his lips descended once more onto hers, this time with less urgency. His lips caressed hers and drew them into his own. His tongue met hers full on and explored in detail the enticing contours of her mouth. Slowly, he drew back and breathed softly. "You don't want me to stop, do you?"

Determinedly, his lips moved on to nuzzle at her ear, whispering urgently, "Feel me against you...atop you…haven't you missed it, as I have?"

With a ragged intake of breath, she arched her back responsively against the firm desirable body that pressed so insistently against her own, grasping at him with her fingertips as an internal fire spread outward throughout her body from deep between her legs. "Yes," she gasped softly. "Yes, I have missed it…missed you…"

A smug smile of triumph lit his face, as his fingers found the hem of her robe, and began to slide beneath it, to run up the side of her silken clad leg seeking the edge of the fine material where he could once more intimately touch soft flesh.

Outside this cocoon of time, true only to the two of them, the world continued to revolve, and its revolutions brought reality to knock on Snape's door at what they would no doubt consider the worst possible moment. Its harsh reverberations froze the two of them in their place on the floor. Gasping as he pulled back and forced his attention towards the offending panel, Snape was beside himself with frustration. Now? Some cretin had the unmitigated gall to interrupt him now?

Minerva began to struggle to pull herself together, but Snape stilled her hands in his. "Let whoever it is cool their heels," he hissed. "They'll give up and go away eventually."

Realizing that he was allowing desire and need to cloud his usual pragmatism, she shook her head. "Don't be silly. Everyone knows you're here, Severus. If you don't answer, they might just get worried and attempt to force their way in. Now, let me up."

Fuming with poorly suppressed aggravation, Snape pulled off of her abruptly and sat up. "Who is it?" he expelled sharply in the brutal tone that always reduced his first years to tears.

"It's Albus, Severus. May I come in?" inquired a mild voice.

"I'm not dressed, Albus, come back later," Snape snapped shortly, while he retucked the shirt that her fingers had pulled from his waistband and watched as Minerva frantically smoothed her hair back into place and pulled her clothing back into position as quickly as she could.

"Ah, well, it would be better to speak to you now," the Headmaster's voice floated faintly through the wooden panel. "Is Minerva with you? I assumed that you'd be playing chess."

"She's not dressed either," Snape exclaimed angrily as he pulled himself to his feet and sank down into his chair by the fire while ignoring the horrified look that Minerva shot him as she finished straightening her robes. While the flustered witch headed for the door, he waved his wand and righted the chess table, returning the pieces to their proper places.

Satisfied that both she and Severus were once again decently clad, and that all evidence of their true former occupation had been eliminated, Minerva opened the door and let the Headmaster in. "I'm sorry, Albus. Severus is in a rather grumpy mood this evening. I'm sure that he thinks he's being amusing, but he's not." She shot Snape a glare.

He glowered back in return.

Dumbledore examined the two of them shrewdly but refrained from remarking on Severus' comments. Instead, he smiled and nodded to Minerva and then turned to his Potions master. "I'm certainly glad to see that your sense of humor has returned, Severus."

Snape slumped down into his seat, and he propped his chin in a hand as he narrowed his eyes and answered, "Yes, I thought you would be, Albus. I know how much you enjoy a good joke. What brings you down here tonight? This is turning into a bit of a nightly ritual for us, isn't it?" Unfortunately, the frustrated man thought sourly.

"I wanted to let you know as soon as possible that Ian Standish plans on arriving tomorrow in time for tea," Dumbledore stated mildly.

Both men instinctively turned their eyes towards Minerva, who'd gone quite quiet as she continued to stand by the door. As she noted them both looking at her, she nodded and sighed. "Well, we knew it would be soon. I suppose it's best to get it over with. Do you have any idea how long he's planning to stay?"

"No, unfortunately the visit appears to be open ended. I imagine that he'll stay until he's accomplished his mission," said the Headmaster.

"Yes," Snape's voice rose softly from the chair. "Whatever that mission might turn out to be."

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**Author's Notes:** Thank you to everyone who's read and commented on the story so far. I'm pleased that I've been able to get anyone interested in a Snape/McGonagall story. I wasn't at all sure that I could, when I started out. :)

I wanted to address a couple of questions that have arisen. The age difference between Severus and Minerva is somewhere around forty years. I'm not trying to make Minerva any younger than she is in canon. However, I am assuming that magic does strengthen and stretch out the middle years for most witches and wizards, so Minerva isn't exactly ready for the nursing home just yet. Also, there will be a few lemons in this story; however, this is a plot driven story, not a smut driven one. If that is your primary interest in reading, you might be happier to try a different story. Thank you all for reading; I hope the story will continue to hold your interest.

shadowycat


	7. Deceptive Appearances

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. ****

**Chapter Seven: Deceptive Appearances**

Minerva McGonagall headed down to dinner with a huge knot in her stomach. Would Ian be there? He was supposed to have arrived in time to have tea with the Headmaster, but she didn't know for sure whether or not he had. No message had come alerting her to his presence, and she'd managed to stay very busy all afternoon in order not to waste time dwelling on it. Yet, now, as she moved closer to the dining hall, she couldn't avoid thinking about it…about him. It had been almost twelve years since the last time she'd seen him. At that time, she'd been lucky enough not to actually speak to him. Too bad she couldn't make it to thirteen…

Now, here she was standing in front of the entrance to the Great Hall like a nervous schoolgirl, twisting her hands together and smoothing imaginary wrinkles from her robe. This had to stop! She was Deputy Headmistress of this school. She had a reputation and an image to uphold. When she saw him, she'd simply smile politely and shake hands, and that would be that. No one needed to know that there had ever been any more to their relationship than that. Indeed, if she was lucky, no one who didn't already know the sorry truth would ever even suspect that there had been any prior relationship at all.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped inside the Hall and paused to look up at the head table. There he was, seated next to the Headmaster, making small talk. She frowned. Really, Albus could have at least placed him at his other hand so that Flitwick would get the honor of conversing with the man instead of her. That would've been the considerate thing to do, after all, but probably not the most interesting to watch. So, naturally, he didn't do it. She truly loved Albus. He was a kind and helpful friend most of the time, but his streak of mischievousness did tend to get in the way occasionally.

Thoughtfully, she considered her ex-husband. He looked as if he'd put on a little weight with age, though his frame was well able to handle it. Ian had always been a physically imposing man. His once gingery hair was now an unruly iron gray, though he hadn't lost any of it certainly, and his arrogant face supported a neatly trimmed moustache and goatee. In fact, he looked quite fit, which was a pity. She'd been hoping that he'd be a frail and wasted creature by now…balding and sickly looking. Apparently, that was too much to hope for. Oh well, might as well get this over with.

With determined steps and a noncommittal expression, she began to make her way up the side of the room, heading for her usual place as quickly as she could, without attracting an undue amount of attention. As she reached the edge of the table, her heart sank as Ian glanced up and saw her coming towards him. A wide smile crossed his face, and immediately, he rose to his feet. So much for slipping into her chair unnoticed. As butterflies stirred restlessly in her stomach, she slowly walked down the length of the table to stand before him. She forced a smile to her lips and extended her hand. "Hello, Ian. Welcome to Hogwarts," she said politely.

"Minerva! It's so good to see you again. You look as lovely as ever," he answered with a pleasant lilt to his rather gruff voice. Then he reached out as if to take her hand, but instead, he pulled her into an intimate embrace. To her shock and horror, before she knew what was happening, Minerva found herself being enfolded in unyielding arms and kissed quite passionately in front of the entire school.

Her first impulse was to struggle against this outrage, but then she realized that if she struggled, it would only look worse to everyone. So, instead, to the accompaniment of an excited chorus of young voices, she raised her arms to grasp his elbows tightly, dug her fingers as deeply into the muscles of his arms as she could without making it too obvious, and allowed the kiss to run its course without any particular participation from her. If he'd wanted to wrong foot her from the start, he was doing a spectacular job so far.

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Poppy and Snape made their way slowly towards the Great Hall for dinner. Although she'd approved his returning to the hall for meals, she'd insisted on accompanying him on his first trip. Not that there was any need of it, other than her pitiful desire to keep control of him and his movements, Snape was quite sure of that.

As they left the staircase and crossed the entrance hall, Poppy kept grabbing hold of his arm, and he kept shaking her off.

"There is no need for you to be hanging off of me like some sort of clinging house plant, Poppy!" he hissed in annoyance, as he once more detached her supportive grasp. "I am absolutely fine and well able to move about under my own power. That's why I have the damn cane, after all."

"I'll be the judge of that, Severus. I can still order you back to the infirmary, you know, if I'm not satisfied that you can manage properly on your own." She grabbed his elbow tightly once more.

"How the hell will you know whether or not I'm capable of managing on my own if you won't let me try to walk unassisted for more than thirty seconds at a time?" he exclaimed in exasperation as he shoved her away from him yet again.

She glared angrily at him in return as she grabbed his arm tightly once more just as they reached the doorway to the Great Hall, already full of those eagerly awaiting dinner.

"I'm trying to prevent you from ending up on the floor in front of your students. I'd think you could show a little gratitude," she huffed.

"Gratitude!" He opened his mouth to argue further when he happened to glance through the doorway, up towards the head table, and stopped abruptly, with his chastising words dying on his lips. His face darkened swiftly, and his expression shifted from one of annoyance to one of anger.

Poppy turned to see what he was staring at so intently, and her mouth fell open in surprise. "Oh my," she whispered hoarsely with a touch of envy in her tone. "Who is that absolutely striking man who's kissing Minerva so passionately?"

Snape's eyes narrowed and never moved from the figures on the dais who were so intimately entwined. "I believe that must be Ian Standish from the Board of Governors. Minerva's ex-husband." His voice was very cold, and much harsher than he'd intended.

"Her ex-husband? He's certainly not acting like an ex. How fascinating." Poppy blushed as she watched the extraordinary sight continue on in front of everyone. "They should probably find a more private place to be doing that, though," she murmured softly.

Snape's lips tightened at the thought. Then he frowned with a touch of annoyance at himself. Why the hell was this bothering him? He ought to find it amusing, but he didn't. Not at all.

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When Minerva was finally able to pull back from Ian's kiss, it took all of her strength not to haul off and slap him hard, especially as she noted the huge glint of amusement in his eyes. No doubt he only did that to put her on the defensive immediately, so that he could enjoy her discomfort and begin their latest forced association from a position of power. He had to know that if she made a public scene after that, that she'd be the one who'd end up looking bad. Bastard!

Ian smiled at the silently fuming witch and shrugged apologetically. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I know this isn't exactly the place for a greeting like that, but I'm afraid I was a bit carried away at seeing you again. Can you forgive me?"

Minerva bit back her true feelings, cleared her throat, and smoothed down her gown nervously in order to regain a modicum of her composure. With a sweet smile on her lips, that didn't reach her eyes, she hissed softly, "Don't think I don't know why you really kissed me, Ian. You always have to have the upper hand, don't you, and you thought it would be amusing to embarrass me in front of my students."

His smile deepened, but the amusement in his eyes died away. "Nonsense. I was simply very happy to see you. However, I don't think you need concern yourself with the students. It appears that they've already forgotten us. Something else seems to have attracted their attention." He nodded towards the figures in the doorway, towards which, everyone in the hall now seemed to be looking.

Minerva lifted her gaze to follow his, and her heart sank to see Severus standing there with Poppy at his elbow, both of them staring straight at her. Poppy looked as if she couldn't decide whether to be titillated or scandalized, but Severus looked angry. Very angry. As her dismayed eyes met his, he turned abruptly away from her and wiped his face blank. Then he and Poppy began to make their way slowly towards the head table to the accompaniment of much muttered speculation.

"Who is that anyway?" inquired Ian in a politely curious tone.

"That's Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey," she answered automatically. "Severus is our Potions master. He was badly injured a little more than a month ago and hasn't been able to teach until today. Poppy is our nurse. This is the first time that Severus has been able to join us in the dining hall since his injury. So, naturally, everyone is very interested and pleased to see him back."

Ian scanned the faces of the students as they watched Snape and Pomfrey traverse the hall. "Doesn't look to me as if most of them are all that glad to see him back. He must not be a very popular teacher." Then he turned back to her and added softly, "You look pleased to see him, though."

To her horror, she felt her face growing slightly warm at his comment. Damn the man. They hadn't spent more than five minutes together yet, and he'd already managed to make her incredibly uncomfortable twice. She turned and frowned deliberately up at him. "Of course, I'm pleased. Severus has been through a very rough and painful ordeal. I'm glad to see that he's improved so much. It'll be nice to have the entire faculty together again."

Her eyes slid away from her ex-husband and focused on the, no doubt listening, figure of the Headmaster sitting just beyond. "Won't it, Albus?" It was about time that the man helped her out here instead of merely sitting there and observing everything without comment. Sometimes Albus' wait and see attitude annoyed her no end.

Taking the cue she thrust at him, Dumbledore stood up and moved away from his place at the table, nodding in agreement. "Oh, absolutely. Having Severus laid up has been quite a trial. It's nice to see that everything will shortly be getting back to normal around here." He smiled happily at Ian. "This will make it easier for you to see the school the way it normally functions, too, Ian. With everyone in their proper place."

Minerva noted that Albus didn't say why or to whom having Severus laid up was a trial. Probably just as well.

By this time, Poppy and Snape had made their way down the full length of the hall and were stepping up onto the dais. Instead of stopping at his usual place, though, Snape continued up the table past Irma Pince and Professor Vector to join their little group gathered around the center of the long table, with Poppy now trailing along behind, her face a mask of exasperation.

Snape's dark eyes snapped with suppressed emotion as he came to a stop before Minerva. Before he could open his mouth and actually say anything though, Dumbledore intervened. "Severus, my boy, it's so good to see you up and around. So nice that you could join us for dinner, too."

Snape's eyes raked over the small group of people who were all currently staring at him and seemed to rethink whatever he'd been going to say. "Thank you, Albus. It's good to be back. However, I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd call off your watchdog. I am perfectly fine, and I'm quite capable of moving about under my own power without being fussed over every step of the way." He shot a glare at Poppy, who was once again hovering at his elbow watching him carefully.

At the disparaging tone of his words, the nurse colored deeply and expelled a sharp breath. "I'm just doing my job, Severus," she protested fiercely.

Once more, Dumbledore intervened to stop Snape's snarling reply before he could utter it. "Yes, yes, I'm sure that you are, Poppy, but Severus is right. He does need to be given a bit more space to see what he can do on his own. If he has any problem, I'm sure that he'll summon you at once."

"When hell freezes over," Snape muttered softly.

Poppy turned and glared at him, but he merely cocked his head and glared back.

"Yes…well…in the meantime, I'd like for the two of you to meet Ian Standish from the Board of Governors," Dumbledore continued. "He's here to perform an evaluation of the school."

Ian smiled pleasantly. "Oh, not really an evaluation, Albus. Merely a thorough looking around to see just how we on the governing board can be the most useful to you and your professors. It's more of a fact finding mission that anything else, I assure you."

Dumbledore nodded happily. "I'm pleased to hear it." He then extended his hand to indicate both Poppy and Snape. "Ian, this is Poppy Pomfrey, our nurse. The sole responsibility of keeping us all healthy and vigorous around here rests on her very capable shoulders."

Ian took Poppy's hand in his and smiled warmly into her eyes. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Madam Pomfrey. I look forward to having a chance to speak with you at length about your needs here at the school."

Poppy blushed and was a bit slow to remove her hand from his. "I'm looking forward to talking to you as well, Mr. Standish." Minerva had to consciously stop herself from rolling her eyes at Poppy's rather school girlish tone.

When the smitten nurse did finally withdraw her hand and step back, Dumbledore continued with his introductions. "And this is Professor Severus Snape, our Potions master."

A slight tension seemed to permeate the air between the two men as they came face to face, as if somewhere, someone was holding their breath in expectation. Ian smiled a carefully polite smile, nodded pleasantly, and extended his hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Professor Snape. I look forward to visiting one of your classes."

Snape hesitated fractionally before taking the proffered hand in his for the briefest amount of time allowed by societal politeness. Coolly, he nodded his head. "Mr. Standish. I've heard a lot about you. Welcome to Hogwarts." Something flickered deep within his eyes as they caught and held the older man's.

"Thank you, Professor Snape. My welcome so far has been quite warm." There was an answering flicker in Standish's gaze then Ian smiled and deliberately turned his eyes once more to Minerva. "Quite warm indeed," he added softly.

Minerva felt highly uncomfortable as Ian's too familiar gaze was accompanied by Snape's dry murmur, "Yes…apparently so." To cover this sudden feeling of unease, she turned away from both men and took her seat at the table to begin her meal. Taking their cue from her, everyone else took their seats as well, and the meal got under way.

The house elves had outdone themselves and, if possible, the number of choices and courses seemed even more elaborate than on most days. Thus the meal seemed to drag on and on forever…at least to Minerva. Ian tried his best to draw her into reminiscences of the past. Did she remember this person or that event…whatever happened to so and so…etc…etc. The more he talked, the more fiercely her head throbbed, so that by the time the desserts were cleared away and the coffee and tea poured, she felt as if even the slightest movement would take the top of her head clean off.

Finally, they all got up from the table to leave, and she thought that at last she'd be free to make her escape when Albus turned to her as she was edging away and asked, "Would you please see that Mr. Standish finds his way back to his rooms all right, Minerva? I'm afraid that I have a meeting with Professor Flitwick that I simply must attend to right away."

Dismay flowed through her veins like ice water. Why was he doing this to her? He had to know that she didn't want to have to spend any more time with Ian than necessary. "Oh, Albus, Ian has been to Hogwarts before. He went here to school, after all. I'm sure that he knows the way back to his rooms as well as I do."

"Actually, Minerva, I'd appreciate having the guidance. It's been a very long time since I've been here, and things have changed quite a lot. Albus is right; I got quite turned around on my way down here for dinner. I'd be grateful if you'd see that I was able to find my way back to my rooms without any trouble." Ian smiled ingratiatingly down at her, his warm eyes burrowing into hers.

Well, it had been worth a try, though she hadn't held out a lot of hope that she could get away that easily. She glanced down the table towards where Snape was once again trying to shake Poppy off his sleeve. "All right," she forced a pleasant expression onto her features with difficulty. "Come with me." Then she turned away abruptly and started down the table as Ian was saying his final goodnight to Dumbledore.

As she walked past Snape, the man suddenly reached out and grasped her arm tightly. She looked up at him in surprise to see him frowning darkly down at her. "Can I expect to see you later, Minerva?" he asked in a soft, vaguely threatening tone.

As Ian had now joined them and was watching their exchange with interested eyes, she shook her head briefly. "Not tonight, I think. Once I take Mr. Standish to his rooms, I intend to seek my own for the night. I have rather a bad headache."

Snape dropped her arm abruptly and raised an eyebrow. "Sorry to hear it. I hope you'll feel better soon." As she gazed into his eyes, she realized that he didn't really believe her and thought that she was just making excuses, but, at the moment, she didn't really care. All she wanted right now was to escape from all of them and find a little peace and quiet…somewhere she could be completely alone.

Poppy turned and looked at her with concern. "Do you need something to take for the headache, Minerva?"

"No, Poppy. Thank you, but I have something in my rooms. I'll be fine."

Poppy nodded and turned to Ian with a big smile. "It was so nice to meet you, Mr. Standish. I hope you enjoy your first evening at Hogwarts."

Ian nodded pleasantly. "Oh, I'm sure that I shall, Madam Pomfrey." His eyes slid quickly away from the nurse's, though, to focus warmly on those of his former wife. "I'm sure that I shall," he stated softly once more.

Without another word, Snape abruptly straightened up and began to move away from them all, heading up through the Great Hall as quickly as he could. With an exasperated sigh, Poppy gave a final bob of her head to their visitor and rushed off after the fleeing Potions master, leaving Minerva and Ian to make their way out of the Hall together…and alone.


	8. Opening Moves

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Eight: Opening Moves**

The next day Ian Standish was making his presence felt all over the school. Everywhere he went, he was making it a point to ooze charm. He was flattering the ladies, complimenting the men, admiring the condition of the school and the intelligence of its students. He even had a kind word for the efficiency of the house elves and the sparkling transparency of the castle ghosts.

Minerva was sure that if Peeves had blown him a raspberry or doused him with paint, he'd have found some way to put a positive spin on that, too. The man was obviously determined to be adored, and his gullible audience was lapping it up. It was enough to make his long-suffering ex-wife ill. All day long, all she heard from anyone who crossed her path was how nice, how charming, how interesting and perceptive Ian was.

The frustrated witch couldn't remember when she'd spent a longer or more nerve-wracking day. By the end of it, her teeth hurt from clenching them shut, and her face hurt from the artificial smile that she was careful to keep firmly plastered upon it.

Goddess, if she had a Galleon for every time she heard how lucky she was to have been married to such a nice man and how did she ever let him get away, she'd undoubtedly have ended up richer than the Muggle Queen of England! How did she ever let him get away…let him…if only they knew. She'd have paid every Knut she ever had to escape from him. She counted herself lucky to have gotten out of her marriage to Ian Standish in one piece. These people had no idea what marriage to him was like, and she hoped they'd never have to find out.

Obviously, her hopes of keeping her former relationship with the man a secret were vain ones. Thanks to Severus, of all people, apparently. Poppy let it slip in conversation that he'd been the one to tell her about their former status as husband and wife, and then coyly added that she might have casually mentioned it to one or two others, including Flitwick, the worst gossip in the castle. Thank you, Severus.

Interestingly enough, he was one person whom she didn't lay eyes on all day, probably the only one, in fact. Most likely, he knew very well that his indiscretion would annoy her no end, and so he managed to stay out of her way on purpose. The coward.

Finally, as she watched her last class of the day make its somewhat straggly exit from her classroom, Minerva simply dropped her head down onto her folded arms and closed her eyes. Immediately, visions of her encounter with Ian from the night before sprang to mind and played themselves out against the back of her eyelids.

All the way through the corridors of the castle, until they reached the guest suites on the rear of the first floor, in the main part of the castle proper, Ian had kept up a running commentary on everything that he could think of to talk about. He didn't even seem to realize that it was a virtual monologue since she was contributing to the conversation as little as it was possible to get away with and not be openly rude. Though, why she should care about whether or not she was being rude to Ian after that disgusting display in the Great Hall, she certainly couldn't explain. Habit she supposed. After all, she was Deputy Headmistress of the school, and he was a visiting dignitary. That required her to treat him with the utmost courtesy and respect…not an easy task when what she really wanted to do was slap his face soundly and run away as fast as possible.

Despite his protests to the contrary, Ian didn't seem to have the slightest problem navigating around the building and indeed he even corrected her when she deliberately turned down the wrong corridor in order to see just how lost he really was. The chagrined look on his face betrayed the fact that he obviously regretted speaking up as soon as he did it. He couldn't help but realize that he'd been found out, but it was too late by then. Minerva knew that Ian simply couldn't resist telling someone what to do in any situation where he knew that he was right. Obviously, that hadn't changed. Somehow, she managed to keep her smug feeling of triumph, at maneuvering him into showing what a liar he was, to herself. It did feel good, though.

As they finally reached his door, he smiled and tried to engage her in some further conversation to delay their parting a while longer. As he stepped a bit closer, she stepped back.

"Your colleagues seem to be a nice bunch of people, Minerva."

An opening that she could hardly argue with, so she nodded her agreement pleasantly. "Yes, by and large they are. I've enjoyed working with all of them."

"Yes, I can imagine that you have." His deep voice seemed somehow overly warm and friendly; it made her uneasy. "The Potions master seems like an interesting man. Though, he was a little quiet at dinner." His eyes held a speculative gleam as he waited to hear her response.

The unexpected mention of Severus caused her heart rate to rise slightly. What was the man after? "Severus tends to be a fairly private person. He seldom has a lot to add to the general dinnertime conversation."

"Yes," Ian nodded casually, "I noticed that he asked if he'd be seeing you later. Are the two of you working on some special project together?"

With a pang of dismay, she could read his curiosity in his face and gave an internal sigh. The very last person whom she wanted to discuss with Ian was Severus. It suddenly occurred to her, as she stood there looking at him, that if he was involved, however peripherally, with Voldemort, she shouldn't take the slightest chance that news of her arrangement with Severus might get back to the wrong ears. She didn't believe for a moment that Voldemort would approve of Severus having any sort of relationship with her, even one of simple convenience.

Trying to project an outward demeanor of calm, she smiled slightly and shook her head. "I wouldn't call it a project exactly. We usually play chess in the evenings if we aren't too busy with work. As Deputy Headmistress of the school, it's my job to keep the staff reasonably happy and content here. While Severus was laid up for so long in the infirmary, we began to play chess as a means of keeping him occupied in the evenings. He's an excellent opponent, and I've found playing with him to be quite a challenge."

Ian's face smoothed out, and the speculative look died away from his eyes. "Yes, you always were an excellent chess player. I used to enjoy our games together. I'm glad that you've been able to find yourself a new and challenging opponent. Still, there's certainly something to be said for revisiting the familiar. You wouldn't be willing to come in for a while and perhaps play a game with me now, would you? For old time's sake?"

He moved a step closer to her, hovering far too near for comfort, and standing between her and the freedom of the corridor beyond. Once more, she took a step backwards and now felt a hard unyielding surface behind her back. How had she let him maneuver her up against the door without even realizing it? She was obviously not thinking clearly at all in his presence.

Casually, he placed one large hand against the wall, imprisoning her on one side while his other hand came up to gently caress the side of her face. "I've missed spending time with you, Minerva. Please, come in and stay for awhile this evening," his deep voice cajoled softly.

A strong feeling of being trapped immediately came over her, and she stiffened up at his touch. Her mouth had gone as dry as autumn leaves, and she could feel her body begin to tremble as the old feelings of panic that were her constant companions during her life with this man once more made themselves felt.

"I have an awful headache, Ian," she whispered hoarsely. "I really need to take something and then lie down and rest for awhile. I wouldn't be up to playing chess this evening."

His hand moved caressingly from her cheek down the length of her throat and toyed softly with the line of her jaw and the collar of her robe. "You could rest here as well as in your own rooms. I have a bed in here, too, you know, and it's big enough to share."

As she gasped at his boldness, and the intimacy of his touch, he bent swiftly and kissed her once more. Somehow, she managed to keep herself rigid and still beneath his unwanted advance. Though her heart was pounding with the fear of him that was ingrained so deeply in her psyche as to be part of her image of him forever.

Automatically, her hand slipped into her pocket and grasped the handle of her wand. She had to fight with herself not to draw it out and blast him off of her. Something that would only cause more problems than it solved, unfortunately. It did produce a rather satisfying mental image, though, that gave her strength.

When Ian pulled back slightly, she drew on her years as a strong, independent woman, raised her chin defiantly and tried to speak in as calm a voice as possible, "How is Nelda, Ian? You didn't say."

A faint smirk crossed his lips at her non-reaction to his kiss, he knew he'd gotten to her more than she let on, and he reluctantly stepped back, releasing her from his hold. "She's well. She sends her regards."

"Yes, I'm sure that she does," Minerva murmured softly as she took advantage of the opening he was now providing and slipped away from his smothering presence to stand a bit apart from him in the thankfully deserted corridor.

"Good night, Ian," she stated firmly. Then, without hesitation, she turned and fled quickly up the corridor away from him. His low laugh and a final comment followed in her footsteps, "Good night, Minerva. I've missed you, you know. I'm looking forward to seeing more of you during my visit."

She didn't look back. Instead, she walked briskly up the corridor as fast as she could. Then as soon as she rounded the first corner that she came to, and wouldn't be visible to him any more, she broke into a run. If hellhounds had been pursuing her, she couldn't have moved any faster. Thankfully, she didn't meet anyone during her flight through the castle because she knew that she'd find her behavior difficult to explain to anyone who might see her, but she simply couldn't help herself. Putting as much distance as possible between them was suddenly of paramount importance. She didn't stop until she reached the sanctuary of her own rooms, only to open the door and discover that her sanctuary had been breached.

Albus Dumbledore turned away from the window at her entrance, unclasped his hands from behind his back and nodded pleasantly. "Ah, there you are, Minerva. I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long."

Suddenly furious at this intrusion, she stepped inside and slammed the door in her wake. "That has to be the shortest meeting you've ever attended, Albus. Or was the meeting with Flitwick perhaps not so urgent as you'd have had me believe, after all?"

Guilt flashed across his features as he faced her, and she felt an odd stab of triumph to see it. Then he nodded slowly and opened his mouth to speak, "I'm sorry. You have every right to be angry with me. I owe you an apology, both for what happened at dinner and also for maneuvering you into walking Ian back to his room."

His admission caught her by surprise. "You admit that you manipulated me?"

With a deep sigh, he walked over to the sofa in front of the fireplace and sat down gesturing for her to come and sit with him. "Yes, my dear, I do reluctantly admit it, and I am sorry for the necessity. I'm concerned that whatever Ian wants here at Hogwarts, it isn't as simple as doing his job for the Board of Governors."

Minerva snorted derisively and crossed the room to join him on the couch. "I guarantee that you're right about that."

"Yes, but despite careful questioning during our initial meeting, and later before dinner began, it was clear that I was unlikely to be successful in finding out just what he was after. He was quite determined to speak of nothing with me other than his official mission here…and you."

"Me?" she exclaimed in surprise.

Dumbledore nodded seriously. "Yes. We actually spent a great deal of our time together talking about you, Minerva. It's quite obvious that whatever he's here for, it concerns you."

A shiver shot through her, and she felt suddenly chilled, clasping her arms tightly against her body she rubbed them firmly to try to ward it off. Damn. She'd suspected something like this, but she hadn't wanted to admit it, even to herself.

"He asked if he could possibly sit next to you at dinner. I couldn't think of any particular reason to refuse his request, and I hoped that since he was so eager to talk to you that perhaps you could draw out his true reason for coming. That's also why I had you escort him to his rooms this evening. I thought that once the two of you were alone for a while that he might come out with his true reason for being here. Was I right?" He looked at her hopefully.

Minerva's expression clouded as she recalled their conversation, and she rose to her feet and began to pace back and forth restlessly before the hearth. "No. I don't think so. He did make a pass at me, not a terribly insistent one, thank goodness, but a pass nevertheless. He talked about how much he'd missed me and how much he was looking forward to spending time with me again. That really was the extent of our conversation. Yet that can't be the real reason he's here. It simply can't be."

Dumbledore frowned and looked up at her as she paused in her pacing to stare off into space in contemplation. "Are you sure? Perhaps we're being too suspicious. Is it possible that he is here simply to try to convince you to come back to him?"

What a horrifying idea! Could that possibly be it? Her mind skated away from the idea, and she shook herself firmly to rid herself of the thought. "No," she stated determinedly. "I don't believe that for a moment. I asked him about his wife. He said that she was fine, and that she sent her regards. An obvious lie, the woman despises me, but, nevertheless, a lie that he never would have made if he seriously wanted me back. Instead, he'd have used the opportunity to tell me how they aren't getting along anymore, and that their marriage was over, or had become strictly in name only. Whatever would cast a good light on him and a bad one on their relationship. He didn't do that, though."

She sought her friend's eyes with her own. "No. There has to be something else that he wants. Though I'll grant you, it does seem to have something to do with me. However, the last time we were in the same place at the same time, twelve years ago at an academic conference, we simply ignored each other's existence every time our paths crossed. What's changed? Certainly I'm not any more desirable now than I was twelve years ago," she said with a mocking ring to her voice.

Dumbledore smiled and stood up. "I suppose that's a matter of opinion, Minerva. I've always maintained that you are a very lovely woman. It wouldn't be a surprise to me if Ian had simply realized that he'd made a very big mistake when he let you go."

She laughed at Albus' rather obvious attempt to allay her fears. "Well, if so, it certainly took him long enough to figure that out."

"Sometimes the truth simply takes a while to be recognized."

"True…but not this time." She shook her head decisively. "There has to be something else going on. Ian is far too self absorbed to be truly interested in anyone other than himself." She sighed. "We also can't forget that he seems to have a connection to…Lord Voldemort. Perhaps that figures into his mission here."

"Perhaps. We shall all simply have to be very vigilant in our dealings with him until we learn the truth. Since he seems to want to spend so much time with you, I'm assuming that if he gets his way, we'll find out the truth that much quicker. So, though I know it'll be difficult, I'm asking if you'll agree to spend as much time as you can stand in his company in order to try to discover what he truly wants. I can't help but believe that you'll have the best chance of discovering the truth."

Minerva's heart sank at that request. As logical as he made it sound, the last thing that she wanted to do was to spend any more time in Ian Standish's presence. One minute spent with that man was too much! Yet she knew that Albus was probably right, and since they did need to find out just what the man was up to, it seemed to have fallen to her to find the answers that they sought.

With a deep sigh, Minerva raised her head from her arms and stared out across her empty classroom. And here it was dinnertime already and no doubt her next chance to experience more of Ian's scintillating company. Merlin give her strength!

Just as she was reluctantly dragging herself to her feet to head down to the Great Hall, her door opened and Irma Pince popped her head in.

"Oh, good. I was hoping that you were still here, Minerva. Would you like to go down for dinner?" Her friend looked hopeful.

Minerva sighed and crossed the room as if dragging herself to the gallows. "Yes, I suppose so."

Irma frowned. "Are you sure that you're all right? You've been looking worried and upset for days. You used to tell me what was bothering you, you know."

Forcing a smile, Minerva answered as calmly as she could. "I still would tell you if there was anything worth telling. I'm just tired. The last few days have been a bit stressful, what with preparing for Ian's visit and speculating as to whether he'll support giving us the extra resources we need. I just haven't gotten enough sleep, I'm afraid. Have you gone over your budget and made a list of things that the library needs, but that you're always complaining that we can't afford because of inadequate funding?"

Irma smiled grimly. "As a matter of fact, I made a point of doing that today. Do you think that Mr. Standish will take the time to come and talk to me about the library? In the past, the emphasis has always been on classroom instruction, and precious little attention was given to the vital support services that the library provides to keep this school running."

Minerva took her friend's arm and guided her out into the corridor, closing her door behind then with a firm snap. "You're absolutely right, Irma. I'll make sure that Ian puts a visit to the library on his schedule, if it isn't there already."

Irma flushed slightly. "Oh, good. He's certainly an attractive man, isn't he? Why didn't you ever tell me that you'd been married? I thought we were friends, Minerva," her curious friend chided gently.

With another sigh, Minerva picked up her pace and the two of them hurried off to the Great Hall for dinner.


	9. Protective Coloring

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Nine: Protective Coloring**

Severus Snape paced restlessly around in front of his fireplace trying to ignore the dull ache that spread down through his injured leg and probably indicated that he was pushing himself a bit too hard again. Yet he simply couldn't make himself stay still for long. It just wasn't in his nature. When his mind was restless, his body tended to follow suit, and his mind was highly agitated at the moment.

When he'd walked into the Great Hall last night to find Minerva locked in that embrace with her ex-husband, he'd been angry, and that had confused him. Why should he care whom she kissed? She was nothing more than a colleague to him…an often annoying colleague at that. Yes, they did have a relationship that extended beyond the usual professional relationship, but there wasn't anything personal in it. It was a matter of convenience, nothing more; so why had he felt so…betrayed…when he'd seen her kissing Ian Standish so passionately in front of the whole school?

It had taken him all day, and half of last night, to finally figure it out, though it certainly shouldn't have taken that long. The answer should've been obvious. She'd lied to him, and that was something that never sat well under any circumstances. She'd pretended that seeing her ex-husband again was the very last thing that she wanted when obviously it was nothing of the sort.

If she'd lie about something like that, what else might she be lying about? Then there was the simple fact that no matter how she might really feel about the man, it wasn't safe for her to become involved with him. They'd established that he was a tool of the Dark Lord. One would think that that would matter to her, she always professed that it did, but apparently it didn't matter that much if it got in the way of her romantic feelings.

Sleeping with the enemy was never a safe thing to do…not for Minerva…and definitely not for him. She knew far too much that could potentially put his own life in danger if it was revealed to the wrong person, and if he couldn't trust her to keep silent then somehow she'd have to be kept away from the man. Somehow, she had to be persuaded that her involvement with Ian Standish was simply unacceptable.

He paused and stared down into the fire as he absently rubbed at his aching leg with the palm of his hand. Minerva was usually much more sensible than this, more pragmatic and dependable. She'd never impressed him as a foolish woman, but she was certainly behaving foolishly now.

His expression darkened. All women tended to be foolish when they were in love, though. That hideous emotion seemed to unhinge their brains, to divorce their reason and intellect from their actions and feelings. Sentimentality was a dangerous thing to allow purchase on your soul. He'd never be so foolish, he was quite certain of that.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Slowly, Minerva walked down the dimly lit dungeon corridor heading for Snape's rooms. She hadn't spoken to him since dinner last night, an uncomfortable experience for all of them. This evening he hadn't said so much as one word to her. He'd never even glanced in her direction; as far as she could tell without turning and staring openly at him. When you're straining to see something out of the corner of your eye, it certainly might be possible for what you were looking for to be missed, but somehow she didn't think so.

He'd stomped in to dinner this evening holding that cane like he was just waiting for an excuse to beat someone over the head with it, sat down in his place, scowled at anyone who dared to look at him and then left again as soon as he'd consumed a bare minimum of the meal placed in front of him. He'd somehow managed to shake Poppy off his tail because she came in separately and ate in her usual place. Although, she certainly shot several nervous looks in his direction during the meal, she hadn't physically gone within ten feet of him during the entire time they were in the same room.

Now, as Minerva came into sight of his door, she hesitated. Perhaps coming down here hadn't been a good idea after all, but really they couldn't avoid each other forever. She'd avoided him last night because she hadn't been up to the lecture she could just see him waiting to deliver, and he'd avoided her today because…well, who knows why. Maybe he avoided her simply because he was annoyed that she'd avoided being lectured last night. If they kept this up, they'd end up avoiding each other for the entire school year, and how productive would that be?

Granted, the thought of a totally Snape free year had its attractive points, but she'd certainly miss the challenge of dealing with him, and if she was honest, she knew that she'd simply miss him. So, someone needed to make the first move here, and obviously it was going to have to be her. Also, coming here to play chess had allowed her to escape from Ian for the evening, too, a welcome respite.

Ian had made it clear that he wanted to spend more time with her tonight, and she knew that she probably should have accepted his invitation to go for a walk, but she just couldn't make herself do it. Even though she was sure that she could feel Dumbledore's disapproving gaze on her back when she'd turned him down, turn him down she did. Albus was simply going to have to understand that if she was going to be forced into Ian's company, it would have to be when she was mentally prepared for it, and tonight she simply wasn't.

When she'd protested that she had a prior engagement, Poppy had stepped in and asked Ian if he wouldn't like to inspect the infirmary instead. By the gleam in her eyes, Minerva had the idea that Poppy was hoping that more than the infirmary would get inspected, but that would at least have the virtue of keeping the man thoroughly occupied and out of her hair for the evening, so she hadn't objected in the slightest. Poppy was a big girl after all, she could certainly take care of herself, even with a greasy weasel like Ian.

Shivering at the thought of Ian personally inspecting anything or anyone, she took a deep breath and tried to banish the man from her mind. Tonight she needed to concentrate on the Potions master. She couldn't afford to be overly distracted by unpleasant thoughts of her ex-husband. He was someone else's problem for the evening. Just let it go and be thankful. Determinedly, she stepped forward and knocked firmly on Snape's door.

There was a brief moment of waiting and then Snape opened the door. When his eyes fell on her, they narrowed slightly and his features settled into one of his less spectacular frowns. "Minerva…this is a surprise. Has Ian somehow developed the ability to entertain himself this evening or are you looking for something to pass the time until you have to go and meet him?"

Minerva raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms. "I came to play chess, as has been my custom for some time. However, if you'd rather I not stay, I'm sure that I can find something else to do with my time. I do have some student essays that certainly won't grade themselves." Without waiting for an answer, she turned away from him and started to take a step back up the corridor.

Immediately, Snape reached out and grasped her arm in a firm grip, then he hauled her inside and closed the door firmly behind her.

"I think I'd prefer to have this conversation in private if you don't mind," he stated softly.

Her lips tightened, and she pulled her arm roughly out of his grip. "Fine. Do you want to play chess or am I wasting my time?"

"I take it your head is much better this evening. No more headache?" he asked with an edge of mockery to his tone.

"Since the headache relief potion that I took was likely made by yourself, I should hardly need to tell you that it was quite effective. I'm perfectly fit. Shall we play or not?" She pushed past him and breathed a sigh of relief when he didn't try to hold her. Then she walked over to her usual place and sat down in front of the currently empty chessboard.

"Where are the pieces?" she asked, raising her eyes to his curiously.

He stared assessingly at her for a moment; then he walked over to the nearest bookcase and removed a wooden box from one of the shelves. Slowly, he walked over to his chair across from her and sank down into it, depositing the box on the table as he did so. She noticed that he was limping ever so slightly but not using his cane. In fact, she glanced around and didn't see the cane anywhere and suddenly found herself wondering if it might not have met its end in the brightly burning fire.

Silently, she took up the box and opened it. Then she carefully began to remove the pieces and set them in their proper places on the board. After the silence swelled to an uncomfortable size, she ventured a comment. "I see you've decided to put the cane aside. Do you think that's wise so soon?"

He'd been sitting sunken into his chair with his fingers steepled in front of him as he'd watched her set up the board with sharp eyes. At her words, he raised an eyebrow and lowered his hands. "If I didn't think it wise…I wouldn't have done it. I'm not in the habit of making foolish decisions, unlike some others I could name. By the way, how was your evening with Ian last night, anyway?"

Stiffening abruptly at his rather accusing words and tone, she paused with the final chess piece clutched tightly in her hand. "I didn't spend the evening with Ian last night. I took him to his room, then I went to mine and took the headache reliever potion, as I told you I would. I did have a little chat with Albus, though."

"Oh? What about?" he asked smoothly, ignoring, for the moment, what he assumed was a lie about her not spending much time with Standish.

"He still hasn't been able to figure out exactly why Ian has come, and he's decided that it's to be my job to discover just what he's up to." Minerva's eyes slid away from Snape's as she talked. Why did she suddenly feel so nervous? Angry she could understand, after all she'd been maneuvered into a tight and uncomfortable box by someone she looked to for support but nervous? That made no sense.

Snape sat up abruptly. "How convenient for you," he said softly, his eyes glittering darkly in the firelight.

"Convenient? I don't want anything to do with the man, as you well know. I haven't exactly hidden my feelings from you about this. I hoped that when he came here I could maintain a distant professional relationship with him. Nothing more. The very last thing I ever wanted was to be forced to spend any amount of time with him. That choice seems to have been taken out of my hands, though."

Her eyes flashed in anger. "I'd hoped to keep our past association a secret, as well. I didn't appreciate you telling Poppy the truth as soon as Ian's name came up in conversation," she snapped primly.

He raised an eyebrow and sneered at her. "I rather think that you were the one who gave it away…not me. Once you'd kissed the man in front of the entire school, I imagine only the most intellectually challenged of the staff and students could have failed to realize that you had some sort of intimate prior relationship with him, so don't go blaming me for things that are manifestly your own fault, Minerva."

Minerva could feel the heat flush across her face at his words. "That kiss was not my idea. What was I supposed to do once he'd kissed me? Slap him and further increase the drama of the moment? I had no choice but to go along with it. That doesn't change the fact that it wasn't your place to spread my personal business around to the rest of the staff." She rose to her feet abruptly and turned towards the door. "I don't think I wish to stay and play after all, Severus."

Just as she'd reached the door, he was upon her, grasping her arm tightly in his hand and spinning her back into his arms. His lips descended onto hers like some ravening beast seeking its next meal. Every inch of her being throbbed with the strength of the desire that flooded through her in an instant. Suddenly, she wanted him so desperately that her every nerve felt stripped raw, and her mouth sought his with matching intensity. Her hands clutched at him possessively.

Severus slammed her body back against the wall next to the door and pressed himself tightly against her, deepening their kiss even further and pushing his hands firmly into her hair, holding her head tightly against his own. As she felt herself pinned down, panic suddenly burst upon her like cold water from a tap washing away her desire in an instant. The hands holding her seemed larger…the lips on hers, broader…the hungry mouth pressed against hers smothered instead of enticed. Ian's angry image flooded through her brain, and she began to struggle against Severus irrationally. She couldn't think…she couldn't breathe…she couldn't escape…and she needed to desperately.

With all the strength she had, she shoved him off of her with a gasp. "No…no…" She breathed in huge gulps of air. He, too, was breathing hard as he stood there and watched her with narrowed eyes. "Not tonight…" her voice trailed off awkwardly as her panic faded into embarrassment and confusion.

A dangerous air hovered tightly around the dark wizard like a second skin, and his voice was deceptively calm when he spoke. "Not tonight…not last night…then when, Minerva? Do you suddenly have another headache?" Scorn bubbled up in his tone and overflowed like acid.

Unable to answer him in any way that made sense, she shook her head helplessly. "I'm sorry," she whispered faintly. "Not tonight. I…I have to go." Without waiting to see how he might react, she turned and wrenched open the door, then she ran away down the dim hall as quickly as she could.

As she came up out of the dungeon into the main part of the castle, she forcibly slowed her footsteps and tried to regain her composure. That had certainly been a disaster. What had happened to her orderly life all of a sudden? When Severus had kissed her, all she'd wanted was to have him take her, right there against the wall…on the floor…it hadn't mattered to her in the slightest. She'd wanted him desperately. In fact, she couldn't remember ever experiencing a rush of desire more intense than that she'd just experienced when his lips had touched hers, so why had she panicked like that? Pulled away and run like a skittish colt?

Her footsteps stilled, and she paused halfway up the main staircase thinking hard. Maybe she should go back. Those feelings of desire were coming back strongly now and, locked in their enticing grip, she started to turn around and take a step back down towards Severus, and what he did to her. Then the expression on his face as she'd run out on him came vividly back to mind once more holding her in place. No. How could she explain running out like that? If she went back and knocked once more on his door, he'd slam it in her face once he saw that it was her, and she could hardly blame him. What the hell was wrong with her? This sort of dithering behavior was so unlike her. Why, whenever Severus touched her lately, did she suddenly think of Ian?

Full of confused feelings, she grasped the railing beside her firmly in her hand and began to make her way up the stairs towards her rooms. She needed to be alone for awhile. She needed to think.

There was one more obstacle to overcome before she'd get that chance, however. As she turned down the corridor that led to her room, she saw Irma Pince standing in front of her door having apparently just knocked.

Minerva stopped dead in the corridor and actually thought of turning and trying to hide in a nearby empty room until Irma went away, but rejected that idea as cowardly and silly. Besides, while she was standing there wondering about her next move, Irma had turned around and spotted her and was now heading down the corridor towards her. No escape was possible anymore.

"Oh, there you are, Minerva," called Irma brightly.

Minerva forced a smile onto her face as her friend approached. "Good evening, Irma," she said pleasantly.

Irma's smile faded as she got closer and got a better look at the Deputy Headmistress. "Minerva. Are you okay? Your hair is all disarrayed. Did something happen to you?"

Minerva quickly raised a hand to her hair and was dismayed to feel some of the thick strands hanging loosely around her shoulders. What could she say? Severus wasn't particularly careful when he grabbed me and kissed me?

Suddenly, she felt incredibly tired, and far older than she'd felt mere moments ago. It was all just too much to bear. Not able to think of a thing to say, she just stared helplessly at her friend who was really becoming concerned now and stepped closer and touched her arm gently.

"Minerva?" her voice begged for some sort of reassurance. "Are you all right? What happened to you?"

Her friend's touch brought her back to herself. "I'm fine, Irma. I know this must look strange to you, but really, I am all right. Please, believe me, and don't ask me any more questions tonight. I just can't… I'm really very tired. Could we please talk tomorrow instead? We'll have tea. It's finally the weekend. We'll have tea tomorrow afternoon as we usually do. All right?"

Slowly, Irma nodded her head. If Minerva wished to wait until tomorrow then wait she would, though she certainly didn't want to. Not for a moment. "All right. Come to my rooms tomorrow at the usual time. We'll have tea. I think we're a bit overdue for a nice long chat."

Minerva nodded, so grateful not to have to go into any explanations at the moment that she couldn't possible formulate with her mind in its current state, that she tried not to worry about what she'd say tomorrow. Hopefully, she could come up with something to satisfy her friend before then. With a quick smile, she turned and hurried off to her door leaving a very worried librarian behind her.


	10. Secrets and Lies

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Ten: Secrets and Lies**

With a sharp clatter, Irma Pince set her teacup down in her saucer, causing Minerva to jump slightly and focus her distant eyes on her friend with a start. The two witches were seated in a couple of cozy easy chairs in front of a roaring fire while rain sheeted down outside and splashed gustily against the nearest multi-paned window.

With a slightly exasperated tone, Irma exclaimed, "Minerva, I just told you that I was having the Headmaster's baby, and you didn't bat an eye."

Minerva lifted her cup to her lips and took a sip. Then she lowered it with a smile and said quite calmly, "Of course I didn't Irma. That's old news. Tell me something I don't know, and then I'll respond."

The two of them looked at each other for a moment then burst into laughter at the same time. It felt so good to laugh. Minerva realized, as she set her cup down on the table in front of her and gave a final chuckle, that she couldn't really remember the last time she'd laughed about anything.

Irma sobered finally and stared with affection at Minerva. "Fine…don't tell me what's bothering you if you don't want to, but you can't stop me from worrying about you. And you must realize by now, if I'm worried, I'm going to keep asking what's wrong until I get an answer that makes sense to me."

Yes, she did realize that, and she hated deceiving her friend, but she simply didn't know where to begin or how to explain. "Honestly, Irma…I am fine. I'm just tired. I've had a lot to keep me busy lately. That's all."

"You know, I've seen you busy before, and what I've been seeing lately isn't just busy. You've been lost in a fog ever since Severus got out of the infirmary. If you don't want to tell me what's bothering you, obviously, I can't make you, but please don't continue to tell me that you're fine because any fool can see that you're not."

Minerva dropped her eyes away from the sharp gaze of her friend and began to fiddle with the soft folds of her dark blue robe as they lay in her lap. She sighed lightly, but just didn't know how to answer. How could she possibly explain all the things that had been going through her mind lately? Very little of it made sense to her, either.

Her relationship, if one could even call it that, with Severus was something that had to be off limits to everyone. There was no question about that. Until recently, she'd been quite happy with that and rather relished the secret nature of it all. It had been fun having a secret lover, but now, she wasn't sure what she had there…except frustration.

However, her real problem wasn't Severus anyway, it was Ian. Having him here, having to see him, spend time with him, was beyond uncomfortable. Not knowing exactly why he was here, what he wanted from her was so disturbing that she hadn't had a full night's sleep since she'd discovered that he'd be coming. So, although being tired wasn't really her problem, she certainly wasn't lying when she said she was tired.

Irma watched her friend pick at her clothing and look uncomfortable. Usually, Minerva was one of the most forthright people she knew. She'd always been able to ask her anything and get an honest and sensible answer, but lately it was almost as if she'd become a different person. She seemed worried and jumpy and lost in some other place most of the time. Only one thing could be causing this as far as Irma could see, so she decided to take a chance and ask straight out.

"Is it Ian, Minerva? Is having him here what's upsetting you so much?"

Minerva raised her eyes from her lap and stared at the librarian in silence. How could she tell her what was really bothering her? She couldn't even articulate it to herself, not in any rational way. Seeing Ian again had just brought back so many thoughts and memories that she'd thought…hoped…she'd buried forever.

Minerva dropped her eyes again. "I don't want to talk about Ian," she whispered softly.

Taking this as confirmation of her fears, Irma nodded and took a sip of tea. "Perhaps not, but he is what's troubling you so much, isn't he? You never did tell me why you'd never told me that you'd been married, you know."

Minerva smiled a small tight smile. "No. I don't suppose that I did. My marriage to Ian Standish was over close to fifty years ago, Irma. It's ancient history…a mistake of my youth. Until he showed up here, it simply didn't occur to me to talk about it. Surely you have one or two youthful indiscretions that you'd rather not have bandied about amongst your current associates."

"I suppose so," Irma conceded. "I'm not particularly proud of the time that I got drunk and took off most of my clothes to publicly serenade a man that I'd fallen in love with, for example."

Minerva smiled at the sudden image that raised. "Irma! You didn't."

"Oh, yes, I did. He was one of my professors at University. His wife took exception to the attempted seduction and contacted the authorities. I was picked up and held for a few hours and then released once I'd sobered up. I almost died from the embarrassment at the time. You're the very first person whom I've ever told that to…who didn't know me at the time that is." Her eyes twinkled and her face flushed a faint red. "I still cringe when I think about it, and I wouldn't go out of my way to talk about it, but then, it hasn't come back to haunt me yet, either."

Minerva nodded. "As mine has me," she murmured softly.

"Apparently. Can't I help you? Even a little?" Irma leaned closer and reached across the space between them, touching Minerva gently on the arm. "Sometimes talking about your problems helps, you know." Her eyes shown with her sincerity.

Minerva hated to disappoint her, but she just couldn't face raking back through her memories at the moment. Certainly not aloud. Perhaps…perhaps she could just skirt the issue a bit and that would be enough.

"My marriage was not a happy one, nor, thank goodness, was it a long one. Our families arranged it all, so it wasn't exactly the choice of either of us. I was married to Ian for six years. That seems like a fairly small slice of my life in the grand scheme of things, but they were the most unhappy six years that I've ever lived through. I don't want to think about them, much less talk about them. Having Ian here is very uncomfortable for me. Having to be polite and friendly is difficult to say the least. He seems to want to renew old relationships, but I don't. It's making things quite awkward."

Irma nodded in understanding. "Yes, he does seem determined to push a close acquaintance with you. That kiss that he gave you at dinner the night he arrived, for instance. I could see that you were uncomfortable with it, but you handled it well."

Minerva snorted shortly. "Oh, you think so, do you? I really didn't have much choice. It was either let him kiss me or pull away and slap him across the face. Which one would have entertained the students more, do you think? It was a no win situation so I opted for the less dramatic action, though it wasn't my instinctive one. That whole incident was awfully embarrassing."

"Yes. I could tell that you were embarrassed, but from a distance I couldn't tell any more than that."

"Good. Hopefully the students couldn't either," Minerva stated firmly.

"Has he tried to kiss you again? Is that the trouble? Is he making unwanted advances, because I'm sure that if you told Albus, he'd put a stop to it immediately." Sudden visions of Minerva's disheveled appearance from last night flashed through Irma's mind. What if the man had tried to force himself on her friend?

Minerva almost laughed again at that comment, but she managed to stop herself in time. Albus wasn't likely to put a stop to anything. Though it was probably dreadfully unfair, it occurred to her that he just might encourage her to take Ian right into her bed if it would get him the answers that he wanted, but that was a sacrifice that she wasn't about to make. Not for any reason. A part of her was afraid that that was what the man was after anyway, yet she wasn't vain enough to think that that could possibly be the only thing he wanted.

Squirming uncomfortably in her seat, Minerva pleaded softly with her companion, "Irma, could we please find something else to talk about other than Ian Standish. It's bad enough that I have to deal with the man in person once more; I really don't want to spend all of my free time talking about him when he isn't around. I just want to forget that he exists for awhile, if you don't mind."

Irma nodded reassuringly. She could see how upset Minerva was to have to talk about Ian, and she didn't want to make things worse for her. Obviously, she didn't like her former husband at all, and if she was reading her right, she might even be a bit afraid of him. Minerva's reaction didn't do anything to sooth her suspicions about Ian's behavior though, that's for sure. He was going to bear watching.

"Of course. I don't want to upset you. Honestly, I don't. By all means, let's move on to happier topics."

Minerva nodded gratefully, and their conversation moved off into the more mundane lines that it usually went in during their teatime chats.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Ian Standish stood at the window of the lovely suite that he'd been given and looked out over the grounds of Hogwarts. A cold wind was whistling between the towers and battlements of the ancient castle, spinning bits of leaves and fragments of smoke around and around at its whim. The sky was low and gray and everything looked somber and dark. The perfect complement to his mood. He'd been here for three days already, and he didn't feel himself any closer to his goal than when he'd arrived.

With a sigh, he turned away from the outside world and tried to figure out his next move. His introduction to the population of the castle couldn't have gone better. Everyone seemed quite happy and enthusiastic to have him here. Indeed, making himself welcome and well thought of had been child's play. There only seemed to be one exception to that, and if she hadn't welcomed him warmly, at least she didn't seem to have poisoned the waters of welcome for him or he wouldn't have been so successful at winning the others over.

As her image flitted through his thoughts, a frown came to his face. Minerva wasn't going to be an easy person to persuade to his cause. He knew that going in. Certainly he'd hoped that she could be persuaded voluntarily, and he wasn't quite ready to give up on that idea, but the chances of his success weren't looking all that good, he had to admit. He hadn't laid eyes on her since dinnertime on Friday. She'd been very quiet at that dinner and hadn't allowed him to make much in the way of conversational inroads with her. Then she'd skipped out quickly afterwards, leaving him to Poppy. A nice woman, and apparently quite willing, but she wasn't Minerva, and he couldn't lose sight of what he was really here for in the pursuit of some temporary amusement.

He wanted Minerva, needed Minerva, and one way or another, he was going to get her. She'd give him what he wanted voluntarily or… His eyes flicked to the tightly wrapped package that stood on his bedside table. He had ways of persuading her to come around. He didn't want to go that route, but he certainly would if he had to, and time wasn't infinite either. He needed to make some progress soon. She hadn't even appeared for dinner last night, but then the table had been rather empty of staff in general. A lot of them probably made other plans for Saturday evenings. At least he knew where she'd be tomorrow morning, as he'd be there, too, and this time he was going to do better.

In the meantime, he had another task to perform. This one shouldn't be particularly difficult. He was even looking forward to it. Yes, indeed. He had some questions of his own for Severus Snape, and it should be fairly easy to slip them in while soliciting his help in his primary mission. Oh, yes. It would be quite interesting to see just what his reaction would be when he was asked for his help with Minerva. Quite interesting indeed. There was something between Snape and Minerva. It pulsed in the air whenever they spoke. Perhaps it was nothing important, a house rivalry or other minor competitive relationship, but then again, perhaps it was more than that. He needed to be watchful. Whatever it was, he'd figure it out, and deal with it, if necessary.

Finding his way down to the dungeons was no trouble at all, but once there, it took Standish a while to figure out just where Snape's office might be. He'd been told that he'd find him there by a house elf, but the dratted creature had slipped away too quickly for him to get exact directions. That would never have happened at his home. His house elves knew their place…under the thumb of the nearest wizard. The ones here seemed shockingly independent. Not that that should surprise him with Albus Dumbledore running the show.

When Standish finally found Snape's office, he stood in the open doorway for a moment and watched the man at his desk. He seemed completely occupied with whatever he was doing. Probably grading of some sort as he was using a quill that was positively dripping red ink. There was an air of foreboding that crackled about him like lightning in a storm. Even Standish felt a slight reluctance to enter the office and possibly bring down his wrath at the disturbance.

Without raising his head from his work, Snape's voice slithered quietly across the room and addressed his visitor.

"Are you simply going to hover forever in the doorway as if you were one of my more reluctant students or are you going to come in, Mr. Standish?"

Standish crossed the room to stand in front of Snape's desk as the Potions master raised his eyes from the parchment before him. "Forgive me, Professor Snape. I wanted to speak to you, but when I found you occupied, I was reluctant to interrupt."

Snape raised an eyebrow and considered his visitor coolly. "I do tend to keep myself occupied. If you waited until I was doing nothing but staring absently off into space, you might have a long wait indeed."

Standish smiled faintly and nodded his head. "I'm sure that you're right, I should have simply knocked, and I do need to speak with you…privately."

"Oh?" Snape cocked his head with interest. "What about?"

Standish reached beneath the breast of his deep brown robe and extracted a folded square of parchment. "I have a message for you, from a mutual…friend."

Snape stared quietly at the small folded parchment as it rested so innocently in Standish's outstretched palm. Then he waved his hand towards his office door and waited until it closed with a firm click to indicate that it was now locked tightly. Without another word, he extended his hand and plucked the message from the hand of the man in front of him.

Carefully, Snape unfolded the parchment and laid it on his desk. It appeared to be blank, but everyone knew that looks could be deceiving. With an enigmatic glance upward at the older man, who stood watching quietly with slightly narrowed eyes, Snape opened the drawer of his desk and reached within to pick up a small very sharp knife. He drew the knife out, closed the drawer firmly and then quickly poked the tip of the knife into the end of the fourth finger on his left hand. A drop of blood welled up immediately, and very deliberately Snape waited until the drop became so fat that gravity had to take it, then he tipped his hand over the piece of parchment and watched as the drop fell to land in the center of the waiting pristine square.

Immediately, a hissing sound filled the space, and a miniature emerald copy of the Dark Mark floated above the stiff vellum in a gently wavering column of fine mist. A soft voice echoed in his ears. "I trust you're feeling better, my loyal servant. Please, render my emissary all the help he needs to accomplish his goal. It's vital to our interests that he succeed." Then, quite suddenly, the parchment burst into green flames, and in a matter of moments, nothing was left but a small pile of ashes.

Standish watched Snape's blood drip down onto the piece of parchment with interest. When it hit, nothing seemed to happen as far as he could see, but Snape's eyes seemed to glaze over for a moment, and he stared at the desktop as if mesmerized. Then, suddenly, the parchment burst into flames and reduced itself to a small steaming pile of ash. Odd.

Yet the little ritual seemed to have a meaning for Snape because when he looked up again, there was a knowing and rather speculative glint in his eyes.

Standish smiled. "Our mutual friend was quite concerned when he heard that you'd been injured. He insisted that I extend his regards now that you're back on your feet. I'm sure that he'll be asking for a visit from you any day now."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yes, I'm sure that he will. Please, have a seat, Mr. Standish," he offered softly as he waved a hand at a nearby chair.

"Thank you, Professor Snape." Standish took the offered seat and settled himself comfortably within it.

"Now, how can I be of help to you?" Snape asked while watching his visitor most warily.

"I need you to help me persuade Minerva to trust me."

Snape raised an eyebrow at that. "What makes you think she doesn't trust you? As far as I can see the two of you seem to be getting along quite well."

Standish smiled. "I was married to the woman. I know how she feels about me, but I need to persuade her to put all of her negative feelings in the past. I need her now, and somehow I have to convince her that I'm sincere in my feelings for her."

Snape held a faint breath as he asked, "And are you sincere?"

"Of course," Standish smirked. "Minerva is a magnificent woman, who wouldn't want her in their life? Or their bed?" The wizard's eyes gleamed thoughtfully.

Snape shrugged off an uncomfortable stab of irritation at that comment and continued smoothly, "Tell me, Mr. Standish, why is it in the Dark Lord's interest to see that you have a willing bed partner in Minerva McGonagall?"

Standish leaned back in his chair and stroked his goatee thoughtfully. "That's really something that I'd prefer to keep between the two of us, if you don't mind. Suffice it to say that it is in his best interests. That really should be all that matters anyway…shouldn't it?"

Not to me, thought Snape sourly, but he smiled a thin smile and inclined his head in a stiff nod. "How do you think I can be of help to you in this…endeavor?"

Standish shrugged. "The two of you are colleagues. You obviously get along reasonably well with each other. Well enough, at least, that you play chess regularly, I understand. In fact, from where I sit, Minerva seems to be quite fond of you." His eyes sharpened, but his tone remained smooth as he asked, "Are you fond of her as well, Professor? The two of you aren't more than colleagues now…are you?"

His question took Snape slightly by surprise, though he managed to conceal his instinctive reactions completely behind a dark scowl and a smooth lie. "No. Minerva McGonagall and I are nothing more than colleagues. The thought of any other relationship with her is laughable. She's old enough to be my mother. In fact, I do believe that she is older than my mother."

Standish laughed at that response and seemed to relax slightly. "Age is a foolish reason to dismiss sex with a woman like Minerva, Snape, believe me. If you did bed her, you wouldn't be likely to regret it."

Silently, Snape acknowledged the truth of that statement, while forcing a skeptical expression onto his face. "Tell me, Standish, if you loved the woman so much, why did you ever divorce her in the first place?" Perhaps, he could finally get that little question answered at least.

Another deep laugh escaped Standish's lips as he smirked once more at the younger man. "Love? Oh, dear me, no. I'm talking about sex here…not love. I didn't love Minerva, and frankly, she didn't love me either. Our marriage was an arrangement, pure and simple, but the sex, well that was something different altogether. Unquestionably, Minerva McGonagall was the best sexual partner that I've ever had, and, believe me, in my life, I've had quite a few."

With a slight stab of annoyance, Snape found that he didn't doubt that for a moment. The powerfully built and handsome Standish was exactly the type of man that many women drooled over. The expressions he'd seen on most of the female faces in the castle over the last few days bore that out quite obviously. Nevertheless, he kept an expression of polite skepticism on his face as he continued to listen to the man pontificate. He really was an ass. How ever had Minerva managed to last six minutes married to him, much less six years?

"No, never pass up an opportunity to have sex with a willing pureblooded witch, Snape. Especially one who's as magically powerful as Minerva. And you shouldn't let age stop you either. In fact, I imagine that sex with Minerva would be much better now than it was when she was younger. She's just hitting her sexual prime, after all. She's a very strong witch, and magical ability greatly increases the life span for both witches and wizards. The more powerful ones tend to live a much longer life. That's hardly a secret, I suppose. However, most people don't stop and equate the longer life span with a stronger and more powerful sex drive, but in my experience, at least, they do equate…quite spectacularly. In women especially, magic increases the drive as they mature, and as it stretches out the life span, it also stretches out the years of sexual maturity. Oh yes, I'm looking forward to getting Minerva back into my bed again. No question about it."

"Apparently so. Any chance that you'll be attaining your goal any time soon?" Snape held his breath. Why did the answer matter so much?

"I certainly hope so, but that's where you come in." Standish smiled.

"Oh? Minerva doesn't consult me as to her choice of bed partners, Standish. I'm afraid that I fail to see exactly how I'm to be of much help to you here," he stated dryly.

"No, I imagine not, but I'm willing to bet that my name has come up between the two of you occasionally since I've been here. Apparently, you play chess together quite regularly. Couldn't you put in a good word for me then? The master wants me to succeed in my quest here, Snape. Surely you wouldn't want to disappoint him?" Standish's gaze held a slightly threatening glint to it, but as Snape had been threatened by many wizards who were far more impressive, he really didn't find the man all that intimidating.

Oh no, perish the thought, drawled Snape silently. Aloud he said, "If the opportunity arises to pursue the subject with Minerva, then I will do my best to see that the outcome is the appropriate one." His lips curved into a knowing smirk.

Standish rose to his feet and smiled. "Excellent. I knew that I could count on you, Professor Snape. The Dark Lord always speaks highly of you."

Snape inclined his head once more. "As he should," he murmured softly.


	11. Disturbing Behavior

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Eleven: Disturbing Behavior**

A clock ticked off the final moments of pre-student peace as Minerva bustled around her classroom getting ready for her first class of the week. She moved from desk to desk setting out jars of garter snakes for the second year Hufflepuffs to attempt to turn into walking sticks. Most of them had completely mastered turning beetles into buttons. Some had even gotten to the point of being able to add fancy touches, like varying the number of holes in the buttons and adding decorative tracery. Now, it was time to move on to something a bit more challenging. She thought they'd be up to the task. It would certainly be an excellent wake up for a Monday morning at any rate.

As she set the final jar on the last desk, the door opened quietly behind her, and she immediately tensed. Her class almost always arrived en masse at the last second, and they were never quiet. Since this was a good three minutes from the warning bell, odds were good that this wasn't the class at all, but instead, was her expected, but highly unwelcome, visitor.

With a sigh, she forced a smile onto her face and turned around to speak to Ian Standish, who stood in the open doorway and smiled warmly at her.

"Good morning, Minerva. I missed you at breakfast." His voice begged the question.

"Good morning, Ian. I had some final preparations to make for my lessons today, so I had breakfast in my rooms this morning. I see you had no difficulty finding my classroom, though." Her voice remained firm and businesslike. She wasn't about to betray any hint of nervousness; she'd promised herself that. Somehow, she had to banish this leftover fear that his presence always inspired. After all, she was a grown woman with a responsible position. No longer did he hold any power over her. She needed to remember that and act accordingly.

He smiled. "No, Poppy was kind enough to point me in the right direction."

"Good." Let Poppy drool over you if she's so foolish, she thought acidly. "Well, the students will be arriving at any moment. You can take a seat here at the back of the room where you'll be out of the way. You shouldn't have any problems seeing and hearing whatever you need to. We can discuss anything you wish after class is over. Will this be satisfactory?" She directed a bland inquiring look his way.

"Oh, yes. That sounds fine to me." Amusement flickered through his eyes, and he turned to take a seat just as the class thundered through the door like a herd of Hippogriffs.

Minerva wasted no time taking charge, and in a very short time indeed, the entire class was in their seats concentrating hard at trying to work this next bit of transfiguration on the unfortunate denizens of the glass jars.

A few of them seemed to grasp the process quite quickly, but it was obvious that others were going to have more trouble, as was the usual way with things. Minerva walked briskly back and forth between the desks stating the proper procedure again and again and giving advice on wand technique and proper pronunciation of the incantation. Once most of them had had at least a minimum success at the task, she launched into a more detailed lecture of the theory behind what they were doing, with particular emphasis on why it was a bit more difficult to transfigure reptiles than it had been to transfigure insects.

About halfway through the class period, Ian stood up and abruptly asked if transfiguration got progressively more difficult as the subject to be transfigured got more sophisticated.

Minerva was startled at the unexpected interruption. As the question was relevant to the lesson though, and the students appeared interested, she decided to answer him. Though she'd have thought he'd have already known the answer for himself.

"Certainly, it gets more difficult to effectively transfigure more sophisticated living creatures into inanimate objects. The more sophisticated the nervous system, the more difficult the transformation." She frowned at Ian, and wondered why he'd suddenly chosen to interrupt her, especially after she'd asked him to wait to ask questions until after the class period was over.

Ian leaned casually back against the classroom wall and smiled. "Is it more difficult to transfigure people?"

Unsure just what he was getting at, she answered him cautiously. "Yes, transfiguring people is much more difficult. Effectively changing from human form into something else is a very advanced skill. We won't be discussing Animagi in this class. Second years have a lot of fundamental skills to learn before they can even discuss the theories involved in such complex transfiguration."

"I'm sure that's true, but I wasn't really wondering about Animagi. I was wondering if it was difficult to transfigure someone without their consent."

Heads raised all the around the classroom and then turned to look at her. Shocked by the question, Minerva answered sharply, "That is forbidden Dark Magic and will not be taught in this class…or anywhere else in this school, Mr. Standish."

"How about if the person in question is dead?" Ian persisted. "Would you know how to transfigure a dead person?"

All the students were looking back and forth between them now with fascinated expressions on their faces. Livid with rage that he would ask such inappropriate questions in front of her class, yet mindful that all of the students were hanging on her next words, Minerva struggled to keep her voice steady and low pitched. She did nothing to mask its coldness, however.

She directed a stern look at the class. "Please, get back to concentrating on your exercises. I have yet to see a truly well done walking stick from any of you."

As the students once more took up their wands and went back to work at their assigned tasks, she turned to a tallish dark haired boy with a pronounced overbite and said, " Mr. Crowley, please monitor the class in my absence. I'll be right back."

As the boy nodded nervously, she turned a cold eye on Ian and stated firmly, "Mr. Standish, may I please speak to you outside in the hallway?"

Without waiting to hear his response, she stalked over to the door and opened it, sweeping through into the corridor beyond. Once he'd joined her, she closed the door quietly but firmly and turned to glare at him. "How dare you ask such inappropriate questions in my class? It was my understanding that you were here to observe the class not to disrupt it with discussions of subjects that should not come up in a class of second year students. If you have any more questions of this sort that you need the answers to, please, keep them to yourself until the class is over. If you can't abide by this, then I suggest you seek out the Headmaster and complain to him. I'm willing to bet that you know the way to his office."

Faced with her fiery indignation, Ian tried to look contrite. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I didn't realize that my questions would be a problem."

Her eyebrows rose. "You didn't realize that discussion of highly inappropriate Dark Magic would cause a problem in a class of impressionable second years? Then perhaps the Board of Governors sent the wrong person to evaluate this school and how we do things around here." Angrily, she whirled around and opened the door to her classroom, walking back into the middle of the room, and immediately resuming the thread of her lesson as if the interruption hadn't happened. Standish watched her go without a word. Then, as the door closed after her, he turned and walked quickly away with a small smile on his broad face.

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Minerva was late for dinner. She'd have avoided it completely if she could have, but she'd missed more meals than usual lately, and she had a feeling that if she didn't show up, Albus would come looking for her and somehow find a way to subtly remind her that she had a job to do, and hiding wasn't going to get it done. Besides, Minerva was a Gryffindor, and Gryffindors didn't hide from their problems, unfortunately, no matter how much they wanted to.

Hoping to be unnoticed in the noisy throng of eating students and staff, she walked into the hall, and paused for a moment, scanning the head table reluctantly. Her chair seemed to be the only empty one. Her eyes flitted automatically to one end of the table's long length and a jolt ran through her to see Severus watching her coldly. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd run away from him Friday evening. A heavy feeling lodged deeply within her as she relived that moment with regret. She should never have run away, but perhaps it would be for the best in the long run.

With Ian prying into her affairs as he was, and with Albus insisting that she spend more time with the man, there really wasn't much time for her to spend with Severus at the moment. And if she somehow managed to find the time, she was far too upset and worried to enjoy it properly, not to mention that the last thing either of them could afford would be for Ian to discover their…arrangement. That could spell disaster for them both.

It seemed wisest to temporarily end their relationship. Hopefully, Severus would understand. After all, it was in his best interest to keep a low profile around Ian, too. The man wouldn't be here forever. She needed to hang onto that bright, encouraging thought for all she was worth. Eventually, he would slink back into his hole, and then things could go back to normal again. At least, she prayed that they could.

Yes, calling a temporary halt to their arrangement made the most sense. Not that she was looking forward to having that conversation, but it would have to take place…and soon. Of course, it would depend on Severus being willing to talk to her, and from the glare that he was currently sending in her direction, that was something of an assumption on her part. Perhaps their arrangement was already a moot point, she realized sadly.

With a sigh, she started slowly down the length of the room to take her place next to Ian at the table. After their parting earlier, she was looking forward to speaking to him even less than usual. What on earth had made him ask those questions in her class? There hadn't seemed to be any point to them. Yet the look on his face had made her wonder if perhaps she'd just been missing it. Could he have intended them for some specific purpose? If so, just what that purpose could possibly be eluded her. Another reason to feel uneasy in his presence, as if she needed any more.

As she passed Snape's chair, he glanced up at her for a moment with slightly narrowed eyes, but when she paused, thinking he might have been going to speak, he turned away once more and gave all his attention to his dinner. So she continued on to her chair without stopping, her mood darkening even more.

She took her seat quietly and began to fill her plate, although she had absolutely no desire for food.

"Good evening, Minerva." Ian turned and smiled at her. "I was wondering if you were going to join us."

She picked up her fork and turned reluctantly to her table companion. "I apologize for being late. I had a few things to finish in my office before I could come down to dinner."

Ian smiled and nodded sympathetically. "Yes, work does have to be done, and other things such as regular meals are often a casualty."

Minerva nodded stiffly. "I'm glad you understand."

"Oh, I do understand. I really owe you an apology for my behavior this morning during your class. I certainly never meant to disrupt things like that. I should have waited until class was over to ask my questions."

"Yes, you should've," she snapped shortly. "Perhaps, if you've learned your lesson, you won't repeat that mistake when you are observing someone else's class."

"I assure you that I've learned my lesson. You've educated me as well today." His smile was ingratiating, and it made her nervous. He was after something, she realized suddenly, and with his next words, it appeared that she was right.

"I'd like to apologize to you further. Would you be willing to come to my rooms for a while after dinner? Just a short while, I assure you. I know how busy you are."

She raised suddenly nervous eyes to his. The last thing she wanted to do was spend any time completely alone with the man. "There's no need for a further apology, Ian. The matter is settled as far as I'm concerned."

"Thank you. That's very generous of you. However, there are things that I'd like to speak to you about that I really can't bring up in public. Please, join me for a drink and a short conversation. I really need to talk to you, Minerva."

Minerva chewed on the inside of her lip and considered her options. Ian was staring at her over the rim of his water goblet and seemed quite sincere in his desire to talk. That didn't mean that she had the same desire, of course. As she tried to think of a way to decline the invitation without causing further problems, her eyes lit on those of Albus Dumbledore who was sitting just beyond Ian and was obviously following their conversation closely.

The elder wizard raised an eyebrow and winked at her as their eyes locked momentarily. It was clear that he wanted her to take Ian up on his invitation. No doubt if she turned it down, she'd find herself sitting in his office instead, listening to another little speech about how important it was to discover Ian's true motive for coming here. Since she really couldn't argue with that, she might as well get it over with and just go and talk to Ian now. He was promising a short conversation, after all. Though, no doubt, it would be up to her to assure that he adhered to that promise.

She brought her attention back to Ian and smiled as naturally as she could. "All right, Ian. I'll be glad to join you after dinner for a short while. It will have to be somewhat brief though because I do have a lot of work to get back to."

Smiling triumphantly, Ian nodded his head in acceptance of her caveat. "Of course. Just one drink and a little conversation is all that I ask."

Why didn't she believe that? With a nod, Minerva turned back to her dinner, which she now had to force herself to eat.

As dessert was finally finishing up and people were drinking the last of their coffee and tea, Minerva noticed Severus abruptly get up and leave the room through the door behind the head table. He was virtually the only one who ever used that door. Since it fed onto a corridor that led to the stairway to the dungeons, that made sense, she supposed. It gave him a quick exit from the rest of them if he needed it. At the moment, she wished that she had a quick exit that she could take as well, but no, she had to wait and leave with Ian. Contemplating that fate made her reach for the nearest teapot and freshen her cup. There certainly wasn't any rush as far as she was concerned.

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Snape stalked down the corridor rapidly. His robes snapped and billowed around his legs as he once more moved along with his usual easy stride. His annoying limp had been subdued by sheer force of will and could no longer betray his slight weakness for anyone to see. The dull ache was still there inside, but he'd been quite able to ignore its presence most of the time, and certainly he'd been successful in preventing anyone else from being aware that he was anything other than completely fit once more.

The throbbing in his leg blended with that at his temple, and he found himself matching his steps to its cadence. Minerva had hardly blinked as he'd glared at her when she'd finally come in to dinner. She'd been making herself scarce ever since she'd run out on him Friday evening. Anger still burned inside him when he thought about her rejection. What sort of a game did she think she was playing, anyway? Surely she knew he was not someone to toy with? If she had somehow missed that little fact, then he'd just have to point it out to her at the first opportunity. No woman made a fool out of him. No matter how much he desired to have her in his bed.

She hadn't called off their arrangement, so, in theory, she was still interested in pursuing it, but every time he touched her, every time he got to the brink of getting what he'd been waiting so damned long for, she put him off with some lame excuse or even with no excuse at all! Why? It had to be that smooth bastard Standish. She kept denying that she wanted to spend any time with the man, yet every time he turned around, there they were together.

Just to make everything even more annoying, now suddenly it was his responsibility to make sure that Standish got whatever he wanted from Minerva. He scowled blackly. Whatever he wanted. He'd made it pretty damned obvious what he wanted. He wanted Minerva beneath him in bed. Suddenly, his mind filled with a flash of memory, clear and bright, of soft skin glistening with sweat, of tangled ebony locks caressing his flesh as warm lips trailed down over his naked body…down...down. He gasped sharply.

Damn it! He wrenched his mind back to the present, threw open the door to his office and stalked inside. Why the hell should the Dark Lord care who Standish took as a lover? It made no sense. Well, he wasn't about to help Standish get his way. He didn't care who wanted it! For now at least, Minerva was his to play with, or reject, as he wished, and he certainly wasn't interested in sharing with Standish. No matter what the Dark Lord commanded.

He walked over to his desk and frowned down at a pile of library books that stood on the corner waiting to be returned. Another stupid demand on his time. With a sigh of disgust, he scooped the lot of them up into his arms and headed for the door to his office once more. Might as well return them now and get it over with before Pince started sending him those loud, obnoxious reminders of hers.

As he started up the dungeon stairs once more, he tried to turn his mind to less annoying thoughts. It was barely possible, after all, that he was wrong, as unlikely as it seemed. Perhaps, he'd been misreading the situation between Minerva and Standish. She said that she was spending time with the man only because Albus wanted her to. Certainly, that could be the truth. She hadn't looked overly happy any time he'd seen them together, after all. Perhaps her rejections of him had more to do with stress than with any true desire on her part to change their arrangement. Women did manage to find so many things to get overwrought about. Surely, it was possible that no matter what Standish wanted, Minerva didn't want the same thing. Indeed, if she was that eager for Standish, why would the irritating man have felt the need to ask for his help?

Just as he was drawing some encouragement from that thought, Snape reached the ground floor of the castle. He turned and started up the main staircase when he noticed two figures just entering the doorway that led towards the rooms at the back of the first floor. Standish and Minerva. Heading where? Curious, he increased the speed of his steps and paused to look after them down the hallway. They were walking at a moderate pace and rather close together. He frowned darkly as he saw Standish rest his hand on the small of Minerva's back and sweep her around the bend in the corridor and out of his sight.

They must be heading for his rooms. That was the only place that they could possibly be heading for down that way. Snape hesitated momentarily; then, with a scowl of annoyance at himself, he picked up his pace and followed them off down the corridor. He caught sight of them as he rounded the corner, just in time to see them round yet another corner and move out of his view once more. Fuming slightly, and trying to stay as silent as possible, he rushed down this corridor as well, to stop and peer furtively around the corner at its end. He hated sneaking around like a guilty student out after curfew.

This time, he saw the two of them standing in front of a door that most probably led to the quarters that had been given to Standish. This was certainly the part of the castle where most of the visiting dignitaries of one sort or another were usually housed. As he watched from his vantage point, Standish opened the door in front of them, and placing a possessive arm around Minerva's shoulders, the man guided her into his rooms with a very smug smile on his face.

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The peace of the library was shattered as Severus Snape slammed into the room and stalked over to Madam Pince's desk. With one of his blacker sneers prominently displayed on his face, he dropped the pile of books from his arms in front of her and declared, "Here are the books you requested that I return to you. I had thought that the library existed for the benefit of the staff and students rather than the other way around. I have need of these texts, and I do not appreciate you summoning them back on a whim."

Irma gaped up at him. Snape was never affable and cheery, but he was usually moderately polite and professional. Something other than books was most likely bothering him, but that didn't give him the right to take it out on her. Fortunately, since dinner was barely over, the library happened to be empty of students at the moment, not that that gave him the right to act in this insolent manner, but it did make it a bit easier for her to react when she didn't have to worry about having an audience.

With all her years of professionalism firmly behind her, Irma stood up to face her rude patron with a well practiced frown of her own. "I don't appreciate being lectured to as if I was one of your more mentally challenged students, Professor Snape. I treat you with the professional courtesy that your position deserves, and I expect you to do the same for me."

He narrowed his eyes, and the two of them stared at each other for a moment without blinking. Then Snape turned away. "My apologies," he murmured between gritted teeth as he struggled to project a more moderate tone of voice. "However, I do need these books at the moment for a project that I am working on. It's at a critical point, and I do not appreciate having my work disrupted this way."

Irma nodded, and the frown on her face faded slightly. "I can understand that, but the fact remains that although professors do tend to have unlimited access to the collection, the student's needs must be met, as well. We are here for their benefit, after all. If you wished to keep these works all to yourself, then it might have been a good idea to refrain from assigning work that would require the use of them," she stated firmly.

A look of chagrin crossed his face. The special projects that his seventh years were working on. One of them would indeed likely require the use of several of these texts. How could he have forgotten that? He snorted to himself. How indeed. Perhaps, if he'd been a bit less distracted, he'd have figured that out for himself and could have simply arranged for his student to see him for the books' use.

"I will see that Mr. Chambers has access to the texts in question whenever he needs them. Will that be satisfactory?" he asked grudgingly.

Suppressing her smile, Irma nodded. "Yes, I'm sure that it will. If Mr. Chambers comes in again looking for them before you've had a chance to speak to him, I will direct him to you."

"Very well." Snape nodded stiffly and picked the books up once more.

As he turned to leave, Irma set her hand on two other books that sat in front of her and called Snape back. "Oh, Professor Snape… Are you seeing Minerva tonight? I know that the two of you sometimes play chess in the evenings. I have a couple of books here that she's been looking for, and I wanted to get them to her as soon as possible."

Snape stiffened and turned a haughty look on the librarian. "No. I won't be seeing Professor McGonagall this evening, and I doubt if she'd thank you to go disturbing her either."

Irma looked surprised. "Oh? Why not?"

"Professor McGonagall is currently visiting Mr. Standish. I don't believe that either of them would wish to be disturbed." His voice was as cold as a winter storm and just as dangerous.

Irma noted Snape's attitude with great interest. Obviously, the man was quite disturbed by what he seemed to be taking as some sort of romantic rendezvous. Should she reassure him? How would he react? Curious, she decided to see.

"Oh dear. Poor Minerva. I know that she's been rather distressed by having to spend so much time with Mr. Standish. She really isn't very fond of him, you know." She lowered her voice confidentially.

Snape stared at her for a moment, while conflicting emotions flitted through his eyes; Irma thought she saw a very brief glimpse of something that could've been relief, but with Snape it was so hard to be sure of anything. "Really? And how do you come to that dubious conclusion?"

Irma smiled comfortingly. "She told me so," she said simply.

With an unblinking stare, the Potions master continued to focus his gaze on her for a further moment. Whatever was going on behind his glittering eyes was a mystery, though the stiff set of his shoulders seemed to relax a bit. His voice, when he spoke again, sounded a bit less harsh. "Well, her feelings are hardly my concern. Goodnight, Madam Pince." He turned away once more and headed off for the library door.

"Goodnight, Professor Snape," Irma called softly. Very interesting indeed.


	12. Opening Old Wounds

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twelve: Opening Old Wounds**

In a move of unwanted intimacy, Ian's arm slipped around Minerva's shoulders and, before she could object, he'd guided her into his rooms and shut the door behind them. Immediately, she moved out of his grasp and walked across the room, turning back to face him.

"So, now that you've had a few days to observe us, what do you think of Hogwarts?" she asked briskly. Hoping that if she started their encounter off on a businesslike footing, that she could keep better control of the conversation. Overly optimistic perhaps, but she had to at least try.

Ian smiled and pushed his hands deeply into the pockets of his dark blue robe as he answered her. "I've been very impressed with everything I've seen and everybody I've met so far. The school is very well run and maintained, and the quality of the teaching that I've been exposed to has been excellent."

Slowly, he moved across the room to join her, stopping a mere pace or two away. His voice was warm and pleasant as he made conversation. "I was particularly impressed with the way you handled your class, Minerva. You had them hanging on your every word."

Then he shrugged casually and gave her a smile tinged with familiarity. "It's funny. I've known that you've been a teacher for many years, yet I've never thought about what you did or whether or not you were any good at it. Though I certainly can't imagine you doing anything badly. You're by far the most competent woman I've ever known. Still, it was fascinating to see you actually teaching in front of a class. It certainly seemed to me as if the classroom is your natural environment. You're a very good teacher."

Wary that his compliments were nothing but a prelude to something else, a way to soften her up and get her to let down her guard, it nevertheless felt good to hear them. She loved to teach, to help guide children into the larger world and arm them with the skills that they'd need to survive and do well. It was a mission in life that she got great personal satisfaction from pursuing. Very few people ever complimented her for that.

"Thank you. I enjoy teaching very much. It does seem to be where I belong, what I'm meant to do with my life."

He smiled once more. "I'd tend to agree. Would you like a drink? I believe I did promise you one."

Hoping to get this meeting over with as soon as possible, she nodded complacently. "Certainly."

There was a collection of bottles of varying sizes and contents sitting on a mahogany credenza on one side of the room. Ian turned away from Minerva and crossed over to examine the possibilities. He lifted up a bottle of amber liquid and turned back to glance at her. "I have a very good bottle of whisky here. There also seems to be some brandy, and a couple of bottles of wine. Burgundy and Shiraz. Does any of that meet with your approval?"

Minerva spread her hands and shrugged. She wasn't going to be picky. "Whatever is convenient."

A knowing smile slid across his features, and he opened the whisky bottle and poured out a measure into two glasses. "As I recall, your drink of choice was always single malt whisky…neat. Has that changed?" He picked up the drinks and moved casually back to her side, offering one to her.

Accepting the glass, she shook her head. "Not really. I'm surprised you remember."

He took a step closer. "Oh, I haven't forgotten anything about you, Minerva." His voice dropped to a rather low, suggestive tone, sending flashes of alarm up her spine as she took a sip from her glass and a simultaneous step back.

"What a coincidence, I haven't forgotten anything about you either, Ian." Her eyes flared with warning, and her voice had a rather sharp edge to it.

His response to that was to throw back his head and laugh. "I'll just bet you haven't." Extending his hand towards the fireplace, he added, "Shall we sit down?"

Her eyes flitted towards the cheery fire burning in the grate in front of which stood a large plush sofa upholstered in a deep burgundy. Not liking the cozy look of that, her eyes quickly scanned the room for other possibilities only to discover to her horror, that there wasn't a single easy chair in the entire room.

There was a loveseat against one wall, apparently the slightly more intimate mate to the sofa, but, other than that, the only other chair available was a wooden upright that stood in front of an antique writing desk settled comfortably beneath the windows. Who the hell was responsible for decorating this room? Didn't every sitting room have plenty of places to sit? She'd have to have a rather stern talk with the house elves about this as soon as possible. However, that didn't exactly help her out now.

Not seeing any way out of it without causing a fuss, she reluctantly crossed the room and perched gingerly on one end of the sofa. This tactic backfired immediately when Ian sat down next to her right in the middle of the sofa rather than going to the other end as she'd quite foolishly hoped.

Simply to take up time, she took another sip of her drink and watched him nervously over the rim of her glass.

Seeming quite comfortable himself, Ian sat back easily on the sofa and turned to her with a smile. "I did want to apologize to you once more for speaking out of turn this morning in your classroom. My only defense is that I found myself quite caught up in the lesson, and simply wanted to know more. One of the last cases that I adjudicated, before I retired from the court, concerned a man who'd transfigured his victim's body into a pole and put a bird house atop it in the middle of his yard. He didn't do a very thorough job of it, though. After a while, it began to…rot. Anyway, when you were talking about the theory behind the lesson, that popped into my mind, and I simply asked the questions that came to me. You were quite right to chastise me for their inappropriateness. I am sorry."

Something about this little story of his didn't quite ring true, but she didn't see the point in questioning it, preferring instead to skip on, finish her drink, and leave as soon as possible. So she nodded and took another sip. "It's over and done with, Ian. I told you there was no need for a further apology."

"Yes, you did, and I'm grateful for your generosity," he murmured softly. His left arm now lay along the sofa's back much too close for her comfort and slowly his free hand began to lightly stroke her hair and play with the pins that held it in place.

At this unwanted touch, she sat up even more rigidly, pulling her head away from his reach and frowning across at him. Before she could rebuke him though, he spoke once more.

"So, what are your plans for the future, Minerva? Do you hope to succeed Albus as Headmistress of Hogwarts someday?"

The question caught her off guard. What was its purpose anyway? Since when was he interested in anyone's future plans other than his own? "I've never really thought about it," she answered warily. "I don't expect that Albus will be ready to step down as Headmaster for many years yet, and I certainly wouldn't want him to. I'm perfectly content to remain in my classroom. I thought we'd established that that's where I belonged." She forced a brief smile.

A warm chuckle filled the space between them. "So we did. I just wondered if you'd ever thought beyond the classroom. Most people want to advance in their professions after all."

"Well, I'm not sure that trading the classroom for the administrative office is really advancing in my profession. I think that Albus has to deal with a whole set of headaches that I would definitely prefer to avoid…permanently. I love to teach. I'd be quite happy to simply remain a classroom teacher for the rest of my career. I don't have any aspirations beyond that."

He moved slightly closer again, and his hand reached out to stroke her cheek gently as he spoke in a soft voice, "That's a shame. You could do anything that you set your mind to, Minerva, I'm sure."

She drew back from his hand but found that she didn't have anywhere to go unless she stood up. "Ian…" she said warningly.

"Why didn't you ever marry again, Minerva?" he murmured. The worrisome hand lightly caressed her shoulder this time, squeezing gently and stroking in small circles.

Caught further off guard, her face went slightly pale at this turn in the conversation, and she gulped down the rest of her drink in one shot. "I'd had quite enough of marriage," she managed to reply, rather stiffly.

His body slid closer once more. Now his leg rested intimately against hers, and his hand began to move slowly across her back in far too possessive a manner. "I should never have let you get away from me," he whispered hoarsely as he leaned closer and attempted to kiss her.

Abruptly, she shoved him back and stood up. "Well, fortunately for me you did. However, I have no desire to relive the memories with you now. If you'll excuse me, I think I'll be going." She set her empty glass down on a nearby table with a thump and headed for the door. Unfortunately, she didn't get very far before he caught up to her and, whirling her around, grabbed her arms tightly in his large hands.

"Don't walk out on me, Minerva," he pleaded. "I took this job of the Board's solely for the purpose of seeing you again. Please! I need you in my life. Letting you go was a horrible mistake. It should never have happened."

Her eyes snapped, and she tried unsuccessfully to wrench her arms from his iron grasp. "Really? You couldn't wait to divorce me at the time. You were in much too much of a hurry to marry your pregnant mistress as I recall," she spat angrily as she uselessly continued to try to pull away from him.

"I had no choice. You know that." His voice rose in agitation. "I needed an heir! I couldn't afford to take the chance of losing that one. I gave you every opportunity to provide me with one yourself." He pulled her struggling body closer to his.

"Every opportunity!" she gasped in an outraged tone. "You mean you forced yourself on me over and over again even after it was apparent that I couldn't give you what you wanted. I endured five miscarriages, Ian. Five! In six years time. The last one almost killed me, and you were sorry that it didn't." Tears sprang to her eyes, and she angrily blinked them back. She refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her pain.

"No. I never wanted anything to happen to you. Never! I kept trying so hard to get you pregnant because I knew that the only way I could keep you was if you bore me an heir. I wanted you to remain my wife more than anything, but I had an obligation to the family to continue the line. Nelda has never meant anything to me. She was a means to an end, nothing more. Our marriage has been in name only for the past thirty years."

There it was. She'd been expecting him to use that tired excuse for some time. Minerva tried to turn away, but he forced her to look back at him. Escaping began to seem impossible, though she continued to struggle angrily with him as she cried, "Let me go, Ian. Your marital problems are of your own making. It's nothing to do with me anymore. If Nelda isn't to your liking, then divorce her as you did me."

"Promise to come back to me, and I will!" he exclaimed hotly.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "What? You can't be serious. How would your precious sons feel if you threw their mother out after all these years?"

"I don't care how they'd feel," he growled. "Worthless, the lot of them. Shiftless, lazy. If I'd known how they'd have turned out, I'd have never set such store on having them, I assure you. They weren't worth losing you over, Minerva. Our divorce cost me far more than it brought me in return."

Suspicion and anger narrowed her eyes once more. "The divorce was your idea, Ian. You agreed to it at the time; you can't go back and change it now. It was of paramount importance then for you to get your sons. You can't come crying to me now if they've turned out to be a disappointment. They aren't my responsibility, and fortunately, neither are you!"

Abruptly, he released her, and she staggered a step, automatically raising her hands to try to rub some feeling back into her arms where he'd held her so tightly. She knew she'd have bruises there tomorrow…just like old times.

Ian just stood there and looked at her for a moment then an expression of contrition flashed across his face. "I'm sorry, Minerva. I had no right to hold you like that. I just had to make you hear me out. I had to get you to listen to me. I still love you. I just want you back in my life. That's the only reason I came here…to get you back."

"Then you might as well leave tonight because it isn't going to happen. The day my divorce became final was a day I celebrated. I was happy to get away from you, Ian. I'm a free woman, and I'm never going back into bondage, not to you or to any other man. Husbands always want to be masters, and no man will ever be my master, not ever again."

With her heart pounding loudly in her ears, she turned away from him and walked across the room towards the door as outwardly calm as she could pretend to be. Somehow, she had to get out of here before the trembling that she could feel welling up inside took hold.

As she reached for the doorknob to open the door and make her escape, Ian said, "I'm not giving up on you that easily. I still have a job to do here, so I have a few more days, at least, to persuade you to change your mind. I'd be a much better husband to you now, Minerva. I've learned what's really important in life."

"So have I, Ian," she answered firmly without turning around. "And it doesn't include you. Good night." With a deep breath, she swept out the door and closed it behind her.

Ian stood there and stared at the closed door in frustration. Damn it! So much for gentle persuasion and a declaration of love. Why were women so stubborn? He couldn't afford to give her too many more chances. Something had to work with her, and unfortunately for her, he knew what that something was.

Angrily, he turned and stalked across the room and on into the bedroom. Once there, he picked up the well-wrapped package that rested on his bedside table and caressed it with nervous fingers. It appeared that Minerva would need some stronger persuasion before she'd give him what he wanted. But persuade her he would, one way or another. There was too much at stake for him to give up, and he couldn't leave here without gaining what he needed. He simply didn't dare. If she wouldn't come to him willingly…there were other ways. And although it wasn't what he wanted, he wasn't afraid to use them. Considering his situation, she really wasn't giving him any other choice.

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Minerva fled up through the castle to her rooms with her heart still pounding furiously within her. She passed students and staff and managed to nod pleasantly as needed, but her feet never stopped moving towards her goal. Fortunately, no one tried to hinder her progress, and she made it to her rooms safely for once without having to actually speak to anyone. Something that she truly didn't feel capable of at the moment.

She opened her door and slipped inside, slamming it firmly behind her and leaning back against it. Her eyes closed and her hands came up to cover her mouth, then she simply took a deep breath and let it out very, very slowly. What the hell was going on? Never, not once, in all of the years they'd been married, had Ian said that he loved her. It simply wasn't possible that now, after all these years, he'd suddenly fallen victim to its embrace. No. She refused to believe it. There had to be another answer. There had to be.

Stiffly, she dropped her hands and opened her eyes and moved straight across the room to open the French doors on the far wall and walk out onto her balcony. The frigid air hit her in the face briskly, and she shivered at its touch. The cold seeped into her bones and brought a sense of reality back to her mind. She was missing something here. What was it?

He was lying! That much was certain. He was lying through his pearly white teeth. Her mind turned inward and dredged up an overheard conversation that she'd hoped never to think about again. The horror of it still stabbed her deeply in the pit of her stomach bring a wrenching jolt of agony to her heart.

All these years later, she could still feel the rough surface of the stones beneath her cheek as she'd pressed herself against the wall, listening, hiding. Her hands had gone automatically, protectively, to her abdomen as she'd heard the deep callous voice of her husband hold forth on his hideous desires. A sharp stroke of fear and pain had shot through her, to forever still the faint stirrings of life that had just begun to move within, as she'd listened in horror and cried silently.

"I'd wait on the congratulations for a while yet. It's still far too early to count on success. Considering how things have always gone before…"

There was a murmured reply from an unseen figure, masked by the roaring of the fire within, and the wind without, then Ian's voice hung horridly in the air once more. "If things succeed this time then I'll have everything I need, and I won't have to let anything go. All the pieces will have finally fallen into place. If it turns into another failure, I suppose that the best outcome I can hope for is that she doesn't survive this time. If Minerva was dead…things would be greatly simplified. I grow tired of waiting, and tired of her failures. She's easily replaced, after all."

With a gasp, Minerva shook her head and brought herself back to the present, shivering in the cold night air. The man, who could so callously speak of wishing her dead if she continued to inconvenience him, could not have loved her…not then…not ever. There wasn't a doubt in her mind about that. So why was he pretending to love her now? Why did he want her to return to him? What did he really want?


	13. Venus and Mars

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirteen: Venus and Mars**

Minerva sat back in her chair and set her teacup down on the saucer that she held in her lap; the click of china touching china was currently the only sound to be heard. Albus Dumbledore sat across from her in another easy chair before the fire in his office. The flames crackled brightly and cast a warm cheery glow over both of them as they enjoyed their morning meal together. She watched thoughtfully as the powerful wizard frowned in consideration while he leaned forward to ponder his choice of the pastries that sat on a small table between their feet. Selecting the proper pastry seemed to be of paramount importance at the moment, Albus did always take eating sweets far too seriously.

Having a private breakfast with the Headmaster had always been a cozy and friendly time, something to be enjoyed and savored, a respite from the often harried nature of the rest of her day. Yet today it didn't seem to have that comfortable feeling to it at all. There was a feeling of unease lodged deeply in the pit of her stomach, and the sight of the sugary confections that her companion seemed to think so important seemed totally unappealing. She'd always thought of Albus as one of her dearest friends and had enjoyed her somewhat privileged position in his life as friend and confidant. The chats they often had over morning tea had always been something to look forward to, until Ian came to Hogwarts.

Suddenly, she didn't see herself in the role of helpmate or confidant. No. Unfortunately, the most apt label that she could see being applied to her current position…was pawn. Well, perhaps the situation wasn't quite as dire as that. Pawns weren't viewed by their masters as particularly powerful pieces, and they were almost always expendable. The best she seemed to be able to hope for at the moment was that while there was no doubt that Albus was using her, he at least found her of value and perhaps not particularly expendable. She hoped not anyway. Maybe she held the rank of rook or bishop. A slightly bitter smile crossed her face. Definitely not Queen, though. The last thing she felt like at the moment was the most powerful piece on the playing board.

Dumbledore sat back with his choice firmly clutched in his fingers. He took a bite of the confection and smiled in satisfaction. Once he'd swallowed, he gazed across at her and gestured towards the plate with his prize. "Are you sure that you don't want a pastry, Minerva? The house elves have truly outdone themselves this morning. You're missing a real treat, you know."

She nodded agreeably. "I'm sure they're wonderful, Albus, but I'm really not in the mood for sweets. I'll do fine with my porridge and tea, thank you."

"Suit yourself, my dear. I firmly believe that every day should start off with a sweet, though. It helps to set the tone for the entire day. If you start off smiling, it makes it that much easier to carry it through your day."

Minerva leaned forward and placed her now empty teacup and saucer on the table, along with her napkin. "Well, I'm afraid that I haven't had that much to smile about lately, and I hardly think a sugary bit of pastry from the kitchens is going to sweeten my mood."

Dumbledore nodded sympathetically. "I know that it's been difficult for you having Ian here, and I know I've asked a lot of you. I'm sorry that it's been necessary for you to spend so much time with him, but I do think it's highly important that we discover just what the man is up to. And no one is more likely to be able to discover his reasons for being here than you are. Did your talk last night reveal his motives at last?" He watched her carefully.

Well, at least the man had let her eat her breakfast before bringing up her evening with Ian. She only hoped that having to relive the unpleasantness of the night before wouldn't threaten to bring breakfast back to haunt her.

"No, I didn't learn anything new last night. Ian swears that the only reason he took this job here at Hogwarts is to see me once more and to persuade me to come back to him. He even promised to divorce his wife if I'd consider marrying him again." Minerva grimaced at the memory.

Dumbledore noted the skepticism that was written all over her face; it agreed with his own thoughts on hearing that statement. "Somehow, I get the impression that you don't believe him." He smiled in sympathy.

Minerva threw up her hands in exasperation. "Of course, I don't believe him, Albus; would you? The man said he loved me. In the entire six years of our marriage, he never once used the word love in relation to me. He loved his horses, he loved his wealth, he loved his home and all the lovely possessions in it…but he didn't love me. I was a means to an end, and ultimately I failed in my duty."

With a bitter sigh, she sat back in her chair turning to focus on the fire. "No, I was replaced in his life a long time ago, and he was glad to be rid of me at the time." Her voice faltered slightly then grew hard. "He'd have been happy to see me dead. I have no doubt of that. There's no way he loved me then, and I certainly can't believe that all these years later, with almost no contact between us in the intervening years, that he suddenly loves me now. He wants something from me, but I'll be damned if I can figure out just what it is."

"I'm sure that you're right, Minerva, and I'm also sure that it's very important that we do all that we can to discover exactly what that something is. Severus said much the same thing when I spoke to him."

Her eyes widened, and she turned back to the Headmaster in surprise. "Severus? What does Severus have to do with this?"

"Ian approached Severus late on Sunday afternoon for a little chat. Apparently when he arrived here, he brought with him a message from Voldemort."

"V-Voldemort. Then Ian's mission here has to do with him and not me after all," she exclaimed with a feeling of alarm mixed quite liberally with relief.

Dumbledore shook his head. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. The message simply told Severus that he was supposed to help Ian out in any way that he could. That it was important that Ian succeed in attaining his goals. It didn't tell him precisely what those goals were."

"Did Ian tell Severus anything?" Surely not, otherwise why would Albus have insisted that she continue to spend time with Ian.

"Apparently, Ian didn't want to be too specific about his aims either, but he did make it clear that he wanted you back. So whatever Voldemort wants, it also seems to have something to do with you."

Disheartened at this answer, Minerva slumped back into her chair before turning her worried eyes to her friend once more. "So we're back to me again. Did Severus believe him?"

"I think so." Dumbledore watched her carefully. "Like you, he seemed to think that there was probably more to it, though. Ian didn't impress him as a man deeply in love, but more as a man with a mission to perform."

"A mission that's apparently aimed squarely at me." Minerva bit the inside of her lip and sighed. "I still can't believe that Voldemort wants anything from me. What possible use could I be to him? Ian certainly isn't going to be able to persuade me to change my allegiances, and I can't believe that either of them would be stupid enough to believe otherwise. Besides, if Voldemort had some deep dark plan for me, surely Severus would have heard of it by now, but he's as puzzled as we are."

"Perhaps not, my dear. Severus isn't privy to everything that Voldemort does or thinks, unfortunately. We've been surprised before, and undoubtedly, we will be again."

"Hmmm…well, I still can't see it," Minerva asserted firmly. "I think it's far more likely that Ian simply wants something from me for himself. I just wish I could figure out what it is."

Minerva gave a short exclamation of disgust. "Well, it's all speculation anyway, at this point. We simply don't have enough facts to go on yet. I do wish that Severus had told me himself that Ian had spoken to him, though."

"Would it really have mattered that much?" Dumbledore's bright blue eyes stared comfortingly at her over his spectacles.

"Oh…perhaps not," she stated with a hint of aggravation in her tone. "But it still would've been nice to know. I'd just like to know everything that man is up to around here. Especially if it has anything to do with me."

"Well, Severus didn't tell me until fairly late on Sunday evening, and this is the first chance I've had to discuss it with you. He may not have wanted to worry you with this. That may also be why he chose to speak to me about it and not you."

She nodded automatically, but her mind lit on another possibility. Perhaps, the true reason was that Severus was still so annoyed with her for running out on him when he kissed her on Friday evening that he still wasn't prepared to speak to her. That was the most likely scenario, it seemed to her. Regardless of his current feelings about her, she really did need to speak to him soon, to put a temporary halt to their arrangement. Though if they continued on the way they were going, it wouldn't end up making much difference. After all, they hardly spoke to each other at the moment as it was, much less did anything else together. A thought that she suddenly realized depressed her quite a bit.

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As Minerva came out from behind the Gargoyle and started off down the corridor, she saw Snape turn the corner and head straight towards her. Her steps faltered, and her heart began to pound harder as she watched him move down the hallway. Once more he was moving with his characteristic gliding walk, no hint of his injury remained to mar his movements. The folds of his black robes swayed easily from side to side as the silky material wrapped around his long legs with each step. He radiated power as he prowled up the corridor, and her breathing sped up as she watched him close the space between them.

She could feel her hands go cold as she realized that since she really needed to speak to him, here was her opportunity. He wasn't going to be happy with their conversation, though. Somehow, none of the conversations that they'd had lately had been easy ones. She regretted that deeply, but she simply couldn't see any way to change things. As long as Ian was nosing around, poking into her life, she couldn't afford to spend too much time with Severus. As she'd realized when speaking to Albus, it was past time that the two of them discussed that, and it appeared that now might be as good a time as any to bring it up.

Severus' face was set in cold, rigid lines, and he seemed reluctant to acknowledge her existence as she stopped him and asked if they could speak for a moment.

"I'm in a hurry, Minerva. You haven't seemed to want to spend too much time in my presence lately. Why must that change now when I really don't have the time to devote to watching you pull away from me and run off?"

The man had a voice like dark chocolate, smooth and seductive when he wished it to be. It could also pull the moisture from your lungs with its dryness and cut deep enough to draw blood if he desired. You never had to wonder if he was displeased with you. A few words tossed in your direction were usually all that was necessary to let you know exactly where you stood with him.

Obviously, she'd been right about why he hadn't spoken to her. She wasn't very high on his list right now. That made it even harder to broach the subject that she needed to discuss, but there really wasn't any choice. Hopefully, she could make him understand. With nervous eyes, she scanned the corridor as she heard voices in the distance.

Her hand shot out to grasp a nearby doorknob. "I'm not planning on running off any time soon, Severus, but I also promise that I won't take too much of your time. However, we do need to speak for a moment. Please. It's important."

Reluctantly, he conceded to her request with a halfhearted frown. "Very well. I can spare you a few minutes."

She nodded in response and opened the door, checking inside the room to see if it was empty. It was. "Let's go in here, shall we? We'll have a bit more privacy."

With a single nod of assent, he followed her into the cold, empty room. Dust had collected fairly liberally on the floor and on the sills of the windows. No furnishings remained to even indicate the last use that anyone had put this particular room to. Instinctively, Minerva lowered her voice in the slightly echoing space as Severus closed the door and turned around to face her. "Thank you for speaking to me."

He didn't respond, instead he merely crossed his arms impatiently and waited for her to continue. She just stared at him for a moment, not sure exactly how to broach this subject…wishing that she didn't have to. Sadly, she realized as she stood there and looked at him that all she really wanted to do was to throw herself into his arms and kiss him passionately. She didn't dare to take the chance though. Suddenly, it seemed as if unbearable eons had passed since they'd last…since she'd felt… Oh, hell.

Uncomfortable with the way her thoughts were going, she dropped her suddenly burning eyes away from his cold and piercing gaze and tried to keep her voice level as she spoke. "I think it would be best if we ended our arrangement, Severus. Only temporarily, while Ian is nosing around poking into everyone's business. It wouldn't be a good thing for either of us if he discovered our relationship, after all. I wouldn't want to compromise your position in any way." She tried desperately to make it sound reasonable…yet it felt anything but.

Her voice echoed in his ears… "_I think it would be best if we ended our arrangement"_… He heard no more, he didn't need to, he'd known it was coming, anything else had been just self-delusion. As soon as he'd seen her kissing her ex-husband in front of the entire school, he'd known how things would end for them. She'd been pretending for days that this wasn't what she wanted, yet any time he touched her, she'd pull away with some foolish excuse. Finally, it appeared she was willing to be honest. Well, he could be honest, too.

"Very well," he stated coldly. "That's your right, and I can't say that I haven't been expecting it because you've made your feelings quite clear."

"What?" she whispered in confusion as she raised her eyes to his once more.

"You lied to me about Standish, Minerva. I'm not an idiot. Ever since he arrived, all your thoughts and time have been taken up by him. You can hardly keep your hands off the man, even in public."

Shock rippled through her. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. How could he have possibly come to this conclusion? "No. That's not true…" she protested firmly, but he cut her off sharply.

"It hardly matters. It's not really my concern what you do with your time…or who you give your body to. I'd been planning to put an end to our arrangement anyway. The novelty has certainly worn off." So much for honesty. Suddenly, he felt the need to hurt her, to pay her back for the way he'd been feeling lately.

He sneered unpleasantly down into her shocked face. "I'm sure that you won't be that difficult to replace in my bed. You were simply convenient, Minerva. Nothing more. I prefer younger flesh beneath my fingers anyway." He paused and then tossed an afterthought her way. "You weren't even that good."

She felt as if she'd been slapped. "You always seemed to be eager enough to have me there, Severus. I know you enjoyed it," she threw back.

"Of course, I did. I'm a man. I always enjoy it." The sarcastic tone of his voice made her wince. "That doesn't mean the experience can't be improved upon. I've had a great many bed partners who were far better than you, but why turn down what's convenient and freely offered unless something better is available at the moment? As I said, I'm not an idiot."

Frozen in place, she looked back at him in a daze. "No," she whispered softly. "Apparently, I was the idiot." She dropped her eyes away from his to hide the pain that threatened to overflow. "I guess we don't have anything left to say to each other then."

Snape eyed her coldly. "I certainly don't," he stated flatly. With a final look of disdain, he turned around and exited the empty room without a backward glance, his footsteps and swirling robes kicking up a small cloud of dust in his wake. After the door closed behind him, she could still hear the clip of his heels echoing down the corridor outside taking him out of her arms forever.

Dazed, she just stood there and watched the dust settle to the floor once more as she listened to the fading sounds until no hint of his passing could be heard any longer. Her fingers dug deeply into her arms causing pain to her recently bruised flesh as she hugged herself tightly in the cold and empty room. Why did she suddenly feel so bereft? It had been her choice to end it…her decision. Though she hadn't wanted a permanent break, did it really make that much difference? It was only sex anyway…wasn't it?

Refusing to let her mind wander down that path, she took a deep breath to steady herself, blinked back the foolish tears that had sprung into being at his words, and exited the room determined to return to her routine and put the Potions master out of her mind as soon as possible. With everything else she had to concern herself with at the moment, she couldn't afford to spend time crying over a man who was far too young for her to be involved with in the first place, regardless of the limitations they'd put on their relationship. If he wanted to act the injured party and flounce off in a snit then so be it. She'd always managed her life just fine without Severus Snape being a major part of it; she could do so again with no problem whatsoever.


	14. A Special Gift

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Fourteen: A Special Gift**

While smoothing down the skirt of her soft sage green gown, Minerva crossed the bedroom to her dresser. Swiftly, she undid the small bit of ribbon that bound her hair together and laid it on the wooden surface in its usual place. Then she took off her spectacles, laying them carefully aside, and picked up her hairbrush to begin the work of removing the kinks that were caused by her nightly braid. Over and over her hands performed her morning ritual without conscious thought.

She closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind as she enjoyed the feeling of the stiff bristles massaging her scalp and pulling gently down through the long silky strands of her hair. It was comforting to run her fingers through its thickness, absorbing the warmth from the nape of her neck, letting it slip softly over her knuckles and palms as she worked through her mane of hair in a smooth, rhythmic manner.

Idly, she counted the strokes as she let her mind drift wherever it wanted to go. Long fingers slipped through the dark strands and entwined themselves in it firmly. Pulling out pins one by one and scattering them like chaff on the wind, sliding up under the heavy mass of her hair to cradle the back of her head gently while warm sensuous lips sucked at the softness of her neck…drifted gently across her cheek…dark eyes bored into hers…

Her eyes opened abruptly, and she uttered a sharp gasp and straightened up. That was quite enough of that. No good would come of thoughts like that. No good at all. It was over and done with; let it go. With a determined gesture, she set the brush back in its place next to the ribbon and replaced her glasses on the bridge of her nose. Then she gathered her hair into her hand, and with practiced ease, she twisted it up into its usual tight knot at the back of her head and began to firmly pin it into place.

When she was finished, she walked into her sitting room just in time to witness the appearance of a house-elf in front of her fireplace. The elf held a package in his hands and bowed deeply to her.

"Forgive this intrusion, Professor Minerva McGonagall, but Scoder has been entrusted with a package for you and was told to bring it to you as soon as possible." The elf smiled an ingratiating smile and held out the package for her to take.

She crossed the room and took it from him quickly. "Thank you, Scoder."

Scoder bowed once more. "It is Scoder's job, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Scoder is happy to do it. Would you like some tea this morning? Breakfast in your rooms perhaps?" The elf eyed her eagerly, always hoping for a new opportunity to ply his trade.

Minerva was tempted to take him up on the offer, but instead she thought she should probably just go down to breakfast. In the end, it always seemed to be easier.

"No, thank you, Scoder, not this morning." She smiled pleasantly at the elf, who bowed once more and vanished with a rather loud pop.

Once he'd vanished, she looked down at the flat rectangular package that she held in her hands and frowned in puzzlement. It was a bit early for Christmas, and her birthday was already past. Predictably, whatever it was, was wrapped in gold paper and tied with a bright red ribbon. When sending packages to Gryffindors, apparently all anyone could think of was to wrap it up in red and gold, how unimaginative. There was a card in a snowy envelope that peeked out from under the edge of the ribbon. Carefully, she eased it out of its binding and, opening the envelope, drew out the card.

As she glanced at the once familiar writing, she sighed. He wasn't going to give up apparently. The heavy sloping writing in dark blue ink expressed sentiments that she'd really rather not hear again, but her wishes in this matter did seem to be irrelevant unfortunately.

**Minerva,**

**Please, accept this gift as a token of my undying affection. I know that you don't really believe that I desire to resume our marriage, finding it unlikely after all these years. However, I assure you that I could not be more sincere. I need you in my life, Minerva. These years without you have been nothing but an empty lie. Only the time with you seems real and alive for me. As you can see, I remember everything.**

**Love,**

**Ian**

She sank down onto her couch and let the card drop from her hands as she considered the package thoughtfully. She could return it unopened. That would probably be the wise thing to do, but now she was curious. What would he send her anyway? What did he remember?

Besides, Albus would no doubt want her to, if not actively encourage him, at least not discourage him completely. At least not until they knew what he was after. No matter what he might profess, there was no way that what he wanted was a resumption of the open warfare that she remembered as their marriage. How anyone could possibly delude themselves into thinking that the painful battle of wills that they'd lived through for six years could've ever constituted a happy marriage was beyond her.

With a sigh, she pulled the ribbon off the package and carefully slipped her finger under the fold in the gilt wrapping to remove it without tearing it. Then she found herself looking down at a box of Milk Tray chocolates. She hadn't even seen a box of these chocolates in years.

A slightly sad smile flitted across her face, and she pulled open the box to release the sweet aroma that she remembered so well, a smell that took her automatically back into her past. This particular brand of Muggle chocolates had been a guilty secret of her childhood. Coming from a pureblooded Wizarding family, most things Muggle were frowned upon, but her grandmother had lived on the edge of a nearby Muggle village, and had a terrible sweet tooth and a strong desire for Muggle candy. Whenever Minerva had gone for a visit, she and her grandmother had treated themselves to some chocolates from a shop in the town. These had always been her favorites. They reminded her of the close relationship that she'd had with the older woman and of sharing a taste for slightly forbidden fruit.

A craving for them had continued through her married years, intensifying with each pregnancy. She could remember begging Ian for some of these chocolates and being refused as often as not. After that last devastating miscarriage, she'd lost her taste for them. Indeed, as she'd grown older, she seemed to have lost her taste for most really sweet confections, preferring the bite of a lemon pastry or a ginger newt.

Now, as she found herself looking down into a whole box of these sweet nuggets of her past, all of them nestled in their small paper cups, so many things that she hadn't thought of in years came rushing back at her. She could see the smiling face of her grandmother as she took her hand and walked her through the strange town and into the forbidden candy shop. A warm happy memory of a woman who'd loved her very, very much.

Unfortunately, that sweet memory was overlaid by visions of herself plucking chocolates from a box exactly like this one while dreaming about the family that she was about to have, only to be disappointed over and over again. That thought was swiftly followed by visions of Ian's angry face as he berated her for one failure after another.

Suddenly, she slammed the lid back down onto the box of chocolates and shoved the unwanted thing off of her lap onto the sofa cushion beside her. Then she got to her feet and paced over to rest her head in her hands against the mantel over the fire.

How could he think for a moment that a box of these chocolates would be a welcome gift? Didn't he remember any of the pain of those years? It seemed so obvious to her that any reminders of her failed pregnancies would only drive her further away from him. Why did he seem to see it so differently? It was almost as if he was determined to take the past and twist it into some sort of fairy tale with a slightly unhappy ending that could be smoothed over instead of seeing it for the agonizing tragedy that it really was.

Lifting her head from her hands, she stared into the fire for a few moments. One hand drifted slowly across her abdomen in a protective gesture, though there was nothing there to protect and there never would be. Suddenly, she clenched her fingers into a fist and fought back a wave of nausea. The past. She did not want to think about the past. It was over and done with, and she was damned grateful for that. How dare he come here into her world and attempt to turn her contented life upside down like this? What gave him the right?

Her narrowed eyes turned away from the fire and focused on the box and its wrappings that sat so innocently on the chesterfield. She shook her head, and reached into her pocket for her wand. Pulling it out, she aimed it at the pile on the couch, and, with a brief flash, the package wrapped itself up once more.

At this point, the thought of going down to breakfast turned her stomach. So she waved her wand in the appropriate manner, and a house-elf appeared before her. It was Scoder again, as it usually was. Different elves seemed to have different professors whom they watched over in particular.

"Yes, Professor Minerva McGonagall? How may Scoder be of assistance?" The elf bowed low.

"I changed my mind about breakfast, Scoder. I think that I would like to have it here, after all. Nothing too heavy though. Tea, grapefruit juice and perhaps some buttered toast."

"Yes, Ma'am," the elf said smoothly.

Then before he could vanish, Minerva spoke again. "There's something else that I'd like you to do for me, Scoder."

"Of course, Professor Ma'am. Scoder is happy to do anything that the very kind Professor Minerva McGonagall wishes."

Minerva forced a faint smile. "Please return the package that you brought me to Mr. Standish. You may leave it in his rooms if you wish. Oh, wait just a moment though." She crossed the room to her desk and retrieved her quill; then she picked up Ian's card and scrawled a brief message of refusal across it and shoved it back into its envelope. Once she'd done that, she slipped the small white square back under the ribbon and handed the box back to the house-elf.

"There. Thank you, Scoder."

The elf bowed. "It is my pleasure, Professor Minerva McGonagall. Scoder will be back shortly with your breakfast."

"Thank you," whispered Minerva once more as she watched the elf vanish with the abhorrent package clutched tightly in his hands. Albus might not approve, but there was no way she was taking presents from Ian. Actually, defying him might be a better course of action anyway. Ian won't like being thwarted, and it just might make him react impulsively. In fact, it might force him to tip his hand completely and reveal what he actually wanted from her. Not that that thought gave her much comfort. The fact was that the longer this went on, the more reluctant she was to actually discover what Ian Standish was really up to.

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With a look of annoyance plastered across his broad face, Ian slammed angrily into his room. What kind of coy games was the bitch playing now? Once more, she hadn't shown up for breakfast. Was she trying to avoid him? Tease him? He would never understand women. They were too unpredictable, and Minerva had always been more mysterious than most. What did it take to get through to her anyway?

Perhaps, she hadn't come down because she was enjoying the gift he'd sent to her. He tried to seize on a positive possibility. When they were married, she was always pleading that he get her some of those horrid sweets, and she'd eat them in the morning as well as at any other time. It'd never made any sense to him, but there'd been no question that she'd enjoyed them. Surely, she'd appreciate the gesture, and take it for a sincere bid for her affections? After all, he was running out of time. Something had to work with that infuriating woman sooner or later.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced across the room to the top of his writing desk. There was a suspiciously familiar package lying on top of it. Great Merlin! Couldn't the house-elves around here do anything right? Lazy and stupid, the lot of them. Angrily, he crossed the room and picked up the package, thinking that he should just summon one of the stupid creatures back and let it feel a taste of his wand, when he realized that the card that he'd tucked carefully under the ribbon was now open. Damn it! She'd sent it back!

He dropped the box of chocolates roughly onto the desktop and yanked the card free of the ribbon. Then he pulled it out of its envelope and read Minerva's rapid scrawl: **You cannot buy my affection, Ian. I am not for sale.**

Furious at being thwarted once more, he grabbed the garish box and flung it across the room with all his strength. It bounced off a large mirror that hung over the fireplace and burst open, scattering small pieces of chocolate all over the hearth and the facing sofa.

The mirror squeaked in surprise. "Mercy! Watch where you throw things! You could've broken me."

"I'll do a lot worse than break you, you nasty piece of glass, if you don't shut up!" roared the infuriated wizard as he stalked across the room to glare at his red-faced reflection angrily.

"Temper, temper," cautioned the mirror softly. "Breaking a mirror brings seven years of bad luck, you know."

"Indeed? And how much bad luck does melting one bring? Or perhaps transfiguring one into a log for the fire? I doubt if that would bring me even a moment of bad luck, and it would certainly bring me a lot of satisfaction at the moment…shall we try it?" he snarled as he twirled his wand threateningly in his hand.

The mirror seemed to shiver slightly, but it didn't reply. A nasty smile crept over his face at the silence. "I'll take that as a "no" then."

As he stared at his face in the mirror, the smile was slowly replaced by a frown. She'd rejected him again. What should he do now? He couldn't fool around trying to persuade her forever. The Dark Lord had a limit on how much grace time he was willing to grant him after all, and the clock was already ticking along much too fast.

He could try to make excuses, he supposed, but that was always dangerous. Failure and excuses were never looked kindly on, and pain had never been something that he'd been overly fond of experiencing. Why should he be the one who was punished, anyway? He was doing his best. The one who needed to be punished here was Minerva.

His lips twisted up into a smile at the thought of Minerva writhing on the stones at the Dark Lord's feet, while he directed the Cruciatus Curse at her and peals of echoing laughter surrounded them all. It would serve her right to be taken down a peg or two. She'd always thought herself better than everyone around her. Somehow, he'd never been able to beat that arrogant streak out of her, and now it was coming into play once more. Insufferable woman.

Then there was Snape! The Dark Lord had assured him that he was one of his most useful and loyal servants. Well, so far he certainly hadn't been overly useful, and that didn't seem particularly loyal to him. The man promised to put in a good word with Minerva. Either he'd failed to do so, in which case, he should've tried harder or Minerva refused to listen to him, in which case, he should've found a better approach. After all, they were colleagues. He'd worked with the woman for years. She'd taught him in school. He ought to know what buttons to push in order to get her to dance to his tune. If he didn't, then what good was he?

The Dark Lord would not be getting a good report of Snape's behavior from him that was for sure. In fact, perhaps it was time for him to see just what Snape has been doing to further his cause. The taint of failure wasn't going to rest solely on his head if he could help it. There was more than enough to go around.

Not that failure was likely, ultimately. He still had one last trick to pull on Minerva. One that she could only ignore at peril of her own life. He hated to do it because, once he did, there was a chance that it could be dangerous to him as well, and if for some reason it failed…

No. He couldn't afford to think that way. It would not fail. Even Minerva wouldn't be so foolish as to give up her life rather than give in to his demands. She had a very comfortable life here. Surely she'd rather keep it than rot forever in the bowels of Azkaban. It would work, but first, he'd seek out Snape and see if there wasn't any other way. If the Potions master had failed him, though, he'd have no other choice than to show Minerva a little piece of her past. Something that she wouldn't be prepared to see at all. No, indeed.

With a hard, determined look on his face, he went off in search of his supposedly most helpful ally.


	15. Threats

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Fifteen: Threats**

With a cloud of chattering voices behind him, Severus Snape stepped through the door of the staff room into the corridor beyond in hopes of escaping from his annoying colleagues, but instead found himself a captive audience as Filius Flitwick followed him out.

"Have you had Mr. Standish observe one of your classes yet, Severus?" queried the small wizard eagerly. "He's due to watch one of mine after lunch. I'm rather looking forward to it. We had a fascinating talk just yesterday about the applications of Charms to help the average wizard and witch with their day-to-day activities. No other branch of study is quite so far reaching in its scope for the everyday magical practitioner, you know."

"No doubt," muttered Snape as he increased his steps and suppressed a smile as the diminutive Flitwick began to puff in his efforts to keep up. Not that that seemed to deter him, unfortunately.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Standish seemed to have a really intuitive grasp of my needs here at Hogwarts. I'm sure that he'll be most helpful in attaining some much needed improvements around here. Did you say whether he's watched one of your classes? I didn't hear," huffed Flitwick as he batted futilely at Snape's swaying robes to keep them from hitting him across the face as he walked.

"No," stated Snape shortly, not pausing in his stride for a moment. Surely they'd reach a parting of the ways soon, and he could make his escape.

"No, he hasn't?" asked Flitwick.

"No, I didn't say, but the other is true as well. Although I have had at least one conversation with the popular Mr. Standish, he has yet to grace my classroom with his presence," stated the Potions master dryly.

"Ah," squeaked the determined Flitwick. "Well, I still say that it's a pleasure to be observed and evaluated by such an intelligent and accommodating man. Such an improvement over that Umbridge woman, don't you think?"

Snape frowned to himself. As unpleasant as the presence of Dolores Umbridge had often been, at least you always knew where you stood with her. Something that was clearly not the case with Standish. You'd be singing an entirely different tune if you knew the truth, Flitwick, he thought soberly.

Aloud he said, "Undoubtedly."

Before Flitwick could find the breath to say any more, Standish himself rounded a corner and headed right for them.

Flitwick beamed and stopped walking with a thankful sigh as they both came to a halt and waited for Standish to meet up with them. "Ah, here is the man himself. Hello, Mr. Standish. I was just telling Professor Snape how much I was looking forward to your observing my class this afternoon."

Standish beamed down at the small wizard. "I'm looking forward to it, too, Filius. I've heard excellent things about your skill in the classroom. I'm sure it will be a very enjoyable few hours. And didn't we agree that you'd call me Ian?"

Flitwick practically purred. Snape had to clamp firmly down on his gag reflex and control the urge to roll his eyes. Did all of his colleagues have to be such idiots? Really, it was a surprise that the Dark Lord hadn't succeeded in wiping them all out years ago.

"Yes, yes, we did. My apologies, Ian," beamed the rather flushed Charms professor.

Standish smiled ingratiatingly down at Flitwick. "Filius, would you excuse Professor Snape and me for a bit? I need to speak to him in private, I'm afraid. I'll catch up to you at lunch, and the two of us can have another nice chat while we're waiting for your class to start."

"Oh, certainly, certainly. I'm looking forward to it." Flitwick shot a curious glance at Snape who raised an eyebrow in return but said nothing. Then the small wizard bustled off up the corridor leaving Standish and Snape alone with nothing for company other than a standing suit of armor and a smug looking wizard in a painting who was preening in front of a mirror.

Snape turned to Standish and noted that the charming smile that he'd been lavishing on Flitwick had vanished as soon as the diminutive wizard rounded the nearest corner. So it probably wasn't to be just a friendly little chat…oh, joy.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Standish?" Snape inquired politely.

Standish's eyes flicked to the side and glanced at the wizard in the picture who was eyeing them with interest in his mirror. "Not here," he murmured softly. "Is there somewhere else where we could have a few moments alone?"

Snape nodded. "I have a class in a half an hour. If our talk won't take longer than that we can talk in my classroom. No one will be in there early, I assure you." Snape smiled tightly.

"That'll be fine."

Both wizards turned and walked off together toward the nearest staircase that would take them to the dungeons. The silence that followed them on their trip through the castle was of the difficult and rather strained variety, and they each kept their own counsel until arriving at Snape's dungeon classroom. They entered the room together, and Snape withdrew his wand and, aiming it at the fireplace, started a warming blaze burning on the hearth.

Then he closed the door and set a silencing charm on the room excepting the area surrounding the fire, leaving the snapping of the flames to be all that any determined listeners could hear.

Crossing his arms, Snape raised an eyebrow and addressed Standish once more. "We have approximately twenty-six minutes before we will be interrupted by a clamorous gaggle of second year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. What can I do for you in that amount of time?"

"You already know what you can do for me, Snape. I want to know if you've done it," snapped Standish as he began to pace around the room fretfully.

Snape watched him pace and frowned. Why was the man getting so agitated? After all, Minerva had called off their relationship so that she could be with him. He should already have what he professed to want so strongly. So what was the problem now?

"Are you asking me if I've "put in a good word for you" as you suggested the other day when we spoke?" he asked politely.

"It was more than a suggestion, Snape! You know that!" Standish glowered at the younger man menacingly. "And have you done as you were told? Have you tried to persuade Minerva that she should accept my suit?"

Biting back his automatic reaction to the idea that Standish had the power to tell him what to do, Snape simply raised an eyebrow and shook his head. "I haven't had much of an opportunity lately to try to persuade Minerva of anything."

"Why not? Is she avoiding you, too? What about during these chess matches of yours? I thought you played almost every night."

Too? A twinge of curiosity flowed through Snape. "No, I haven't played with Minerva in far too long, actually. She's called off our chess matches. I thought it might be to spend more time with you. No?" He raised an inquiring brow.

Standish frowned and rubbed a thoughtful hand over his goatee.

Snape smirked internally. Why does every man who ever grows one of those chin bushes seem to feel that stroking it makes him appear more intelligent? What really came to mind most of the time was an image of one of the not-so-great apes grooming themselves while looking for a leftover snack.

"Minerva called off your chess matches?" Standish reiterated.

Snape nodded and looked annoyed. "Yes. She seemed to need the extra free time at the moment. I assumed it was to spend with you, but perhaps her workload has become heavier. It happens to all of us fairly regularly. I do assure you that if I'm given an opportunity, I will do as promised, but Minerva would think it rather odd for me to follow her around and try to pry unduly into her personal business. Neither of us tends to appreciate that sort of thing. You wouldn't want me to raise suspicions of a connection between the two of us, after all. That wouldn't serve either of us well, now would it?"

"No, I suppose not. Very well. If Minerva has cancelled your time together then I suppose there isn't much you can do to help at the moment, but if you think of anything else that you can do…do it. Although I am making serious inroads with her," Standish lied smoothly, no need to have Snape think that he was failing in his mission; it might get back to the Dark Lord prematurely, and that would be a disaster. "It never hurts to have help, and I'd certainly like to put to rest any of the few lingering doubts she still might have."

Snape raised a brow and nodded. "Of course. I'm always more than willing to help where needed."

"Excellent," Standish smiled. "I knew I could rely on you, Professor Snape."

Standish then turned and left Snape's classroom without another word.

Snape waved his wand and murmured the appropriate spells and both the silencing spell, and the fire, vanished abruptly. If the pompous fool was doing so well with Minerva, then why was he still so agitated? And why was he so desirous of his help? Could it possibly be that Minerva wasn't as involved with the man as he'd assumed? Perhaps there was more trouble in paradise than Standish wanted to admit. A smirk crossed Snape's thin features at that thought. Wouldn't that just be an awful shame though?

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Minerva walked down the hallway headed for her rooms. Somehow, she'd managed to avoid having any sort of confrontation with Ian all day. Although good news, it did make her a bit concerned. When she'd sent his present back with a rather snippy note attached, she'd expected that would cause some sort of trouble, but for whatever reason, it hadn't appeared to.

Though they'd seen each other at lunch, Ian had actually taken a seat on Dumbledore's other side and had been having what looked like a rather animated discussion with Flitwick throughout the meal. So, other than nodding pleasantly to her, there hadn't been any contact at all. Severus had glared in her direction once or twice, but there hadn't been any contact there either. So she'd managed to finish her meal without succumbing to a case of indigestion, but it still made her decidedly nervous.

As she rounded a corner of the hallway, she suddenly found herself face to face with Ian who'd apparently been lying in wait for her.

"Good evening, Minerva. You wouldn't be thinking of skipping dinner now would you?" he asked pleasantly with a calculating smile on his broad face.

She gasped in surprise. "Ian. You startled me." Cautiously, she made to step around him and found herself abruptly seized by the arm and pulled a bit farther down the hallway away from the corner. Then her body was roughly forced back against the wall with both arms pinned against the stones by his strong, beefy hands.

"Ian! Let me go," the furious witch demanded.

"No. I can't, not until you talk to me! Why did you return my gift, Minerva? I thought you liked those silly chocolates. What can I do to persuade you that all I want is for you to be happy…with me?"

"Let me go! How can you possibly think that manhandling me would persuade me of anything? No amount of force will win you your case, Ian. It didn't work when we were married, and it certainly won't work now."

"I need you, Minerva. Please…" The big man pressed full length against her and forced a kiss. Though she tried to struggle against him, she could barely breathe or move. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement near the turning of the corridor. Perhaps someone would come. Perhaps someone would stop this outrage, but nothing happened, and she was forced to concede that she must've imagined it in her desperation.

When he pulled back slightly and released one of her hands to fondle her breast through her gown, she quickly slipped the freed hand into her pocket and tried to draw out her wand only to be stopped before she could get it fully untangled from the material.

"Now, Minerva," he chided softly. "You weren't really thinking of drawing your wand on me, were you?"

"Let me go, Ian. Let me go now or I'll scream. This is a school, and there are people all around us. It wouldn't do you any good to be caught accosting the Deputy Headmistress against her will." Her voice was cold and firm and very angry.

His eyes bored into hers in an unspoken contest of wills. Surprisingly, good sense seemed to win out because, without another word, he released her and stepped back with a petulant expression on his face.

"Please, Minerva. Don't turn away from me. I need you." His voice was pleading and desperate.

"Ian, I am only going to say this once, so you'd better heed my words. I want nothing to do with you. You are my ex-husband, and that is the way I want to keep it. I never loved you, not even a little, and I sure as hell don't love you now. There is no place for you in my life beyond that of visiting dignitary. None. Touch me again, and I will file a complaint with the Board. Have I made myself clear?"

To hell with what Albus wanted, to hell with whatever schemes Voldemort might be hatching, she had put up with enough!

Ian's eyes narrowed, and his face hardened like granite. "Yes. You've made your position perfectly plain. That is your final word on the subject?"

"Yes." Could it be that she was finally getting through to him?

"Very well. I won't bother to waste my breath trying to persuade you differently any longer. You've made a big mistake, Minerva. A very big mistake, and I assure you that when we talk next, you'll realize just how big a mistake it is." With that rather ominous threat, Standish turned on his heel and stomped away towards his rooms.

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Still trembling slightly at her narrow escape, and worried now about Ian's final threat, Minerva wasn't paying as much attention as she might ordinarily have done to what was going on around her. As she walked down the corridor nearest to her rooms, a hand reached out from a deep alcove behind a suit of armor and suddenly pulled her into the shadowy recess to join its owner.

Acting on instinct, she drew her wand and held it up to threaten her attacker. Instantly, her arm was seized and twisted around behind her back, forcing her body tightly up against that of the man who was accosting her. Her wand hand was rapped sharply against the stones, and with a pang of distress, she felt her hand go numb as her wand clattered to the floor behind her.

"You should know better than to draw your wand on me, Minerva," a cold voice murmured low.

With a gasp that was equal parts annoyance and relief, Minerva relaxed slightly. "Severus. You startled me out of my wits."

"Yes. That was the idea," he stated dryly.

"Release me," she demanded angrily. She was getting damned tired of men who thought that they had a right to grab hold of her whenever they wished!

Instead of complying with her command, Snape tightened his hold, forcing her body even more firmly up against his own. His lips dropped to her ear, and he murmured softly, "Oh, I think I prefer to keep you confined until I have my say."

Her heart began to pound faster and faster as his warm breath softly caressed her throat, his lips barely brushing the skin and raising the hair at the nape of her neck. She raised her other arm upward to grasp at the folds of his sleeve as his free hand rose to toy with her neck and slowly trace the line of her jaw, in a tantalizing, yet vaguely threatening manner.

"Where is Ian, Minerva? I expected you to follow up that passionate kiss in the hallway by taking him to your rooms."

"Passionate kiss?! I don't know where he is. Nor do I care," she stated hotly. So she'd been right to think that there'd been an observer. Why the hell hadn't he helped her then? Surely he couldn't think that she'd wanted to be manhandled like that?

"Well, I do care, and you'd better heed my words," snarled Snape softly. "You know far too much about me for comfort, and if you're going to be bedding a servant of the Dark Lord, then I need assurances from you that you'll keep your mouth shut no matter how aroused your questionable lover gets you."

Her mouth fell open in surprise. Where did this infuriating man get these foolish ideas?

"My lover? Are you questioning my loyalties?" she gasped indignantly. "How dare you?"

"Not your loyalties…your judgment. If you'd fall for Standish and whatever witless lines he's fed you, even knowing that he's working for the Dark Lord, then how can I be sure that you won't let something slip that you shouldn't? Your sleeping with the enemy is dangerous. Both to you and, unfortunately, to me." His voice rose in intensity as he continued to make his points.

"I'm not sleeping with the enemy, Severus!" she exclaimed angrily, but he simply kept on talking, ignoring her interruption as he might the futile protestations of his students when he was reprimanding them for some infraction in his classroom.

"I've worked too hard to allow my safety to be compromised by a witch who can't keep her legs closed when some pompous fool like Standish comes sniffing around begging entrance."

"You idiot!" she exclaimed, too shocked that he could possibly accuse her of this to be able to answer coherently. How could he possibly think this way?

Suddenly, she became aware of a familiar hardness pressing into her abdomen as she stood chest to chest with Snape. Her eyes widened at the feel, and she responded instinctively with a deep shiver that ran through her like a sharp sliver of glass as she unconsciously pressed her body even closer to his. The hand at her throat trembled slightly, and a look of understanding flitted through his eyes to match that in her own.

For a moment, she was sure that he was going to kiss her, but instead, he released her abruptly, and pushed her body away from his, further into the alcove.

His voice echoed harshly in her ears. "Remember what I said, Minerva. Do not betray me." Then with a flurry of blackness, he was gone, and she was left alone. Her body began to tremble in earnest now, and she slid down the back wall of the alcove to sit on the stone floor, pulling her knees up to her face, and clasping her arms tightly around them.


	16. Memories of the Past

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Sixteen: Memories of the Past**

The licking and jumping flames on the hearth mesmerized and lulled Minerva into a peaceful state. She could hardly stir herself to move and instead merely sat quietly in the middle of her comfortable couch and stared fixedly into the fire. Today had worn her out. First dealing with Ian, and then Severus, the latter being by far the worst.

She expected that sort of brutish treatment from Ian, but Severus, for all his snarling and glowering, had never laid a hand on her, that she hadn't welcomed before today. How could he possibly think that she'd betray him to anyone who could cause him even a moment of pain? And why did he persist in thinking that she had once more involved herself with Ian? She thought she'd made her position plain on that, more than once, in fact. How could he think that she'd ever voluntarily let Ian touch her? He seemed to think she was lying to him. Why? She wouldn't lie to him; didn't he understand that? After all these years, didn't he know her at all? Her throat tightened at the thought. Apparently not, but why did that realization hurt so much?

A shiver ran through her body despite the warmth of the fire, and she pulled her tartan shawl closer around her thin shoulders. Trying to banish thoughts of Severus from her mind, she turned to her more serious problem. It appeared that she'd finally reached the end of Ian's patience. He'd been furious when he'd stalked off after their last confrontation. Another shiver hit as she recalled his final parting threat. What did it mean? What would he do to her? What could he do to her?

Most likely, he was just full of his usual bluster, making idle threats and stomping his feet because he wasn't getting what he wanted. That would be a pretty typical reaction for him. He always promised dire consequences for crossing him even if he didn't have anything to back it up with. She could only hope that this was another one of those times.

Regardless, she was going to have to go and tell Albus what had happened. He probably wouldn't be very happy about it, but frankly, that wasn't her problem. She'd put up with enough from Ian, much more than she ever would have without Albus' insistence. She really had tried to discover what he was up to. Honestly, she had. Small consolation in the end. Perhaps, both she and Albus could take solace in the fact that she was apparently frustrating whatever Ian had been sent here to do. She had a feeling that Voldemort wouldn't end up being too happy with him, but she found herself unable to really care.

Her eyes drifted away from the fire to focus on the clock that sat in the middle of her mantelpiece. With a mild sense of surprise, she realized that it was now a little after eight. Apparently, she'd missed dinner completely and hadn't even realized it. It was very unusual for her to lose track of time so completely. She wasn't even hungry.

With a sigh, she shook herself sharply and let the shawl slip from her shoulders as she got to her feet. Slowly, she picked up her thin black academic robe from the back of a chair and slipped it on. Enough moping around and worrying, that never accomplished anything, and she should know better. Albus would want to know about what had happened with Ian, so she should simply pull herself together and go and get it over with.

As she headed for the door, a sharp knock resounded against its wooden panel. What now, she thought with irritation. Hadn't this day been full enough already? Hopefully, it was Albus. Perhaps he'd wondered at her missing dinner and had come to check on her. At least, it would save her a trip up to his tower if that was the case. So, with a sigh, she opened her door and was unpleasantly startled to find herself staring into the cold brown eyes of Ian Standish.

Her first impulse was to slam the door shut in his face, but before she could move, he shoved her roughly aside and stalked into the room.

"Good evening, Minerva. You weren't thinking of not letting me in now, were you?" he spit the words at her like hot coals that would burn at a touch.

Regaining her balance quickly, she cast a dark frown his way. "I thought I made my position perfectly plain," she hissed in an angry voice. How dare he force his way into her rooms!

A nasty smile crossed his face. "Oh, you did. I got your message loud and clear. Now, you'll listen to mine, and if you know what's good for you, you'll heed it."

Before she could properly react, he turned and slammed the door shut. Then he grabbed her roughly by the arm and hauled her back across the room, throwing her down onto the couch as one might drop a load of books. Even before she could collect herself and sit up, he had his wand trained at her face.

"Now, Minerva, you'll do as I say. Take your wand out of your pocket…slowly…and give it to me. Now," he insisted as she hesitated.

Seething at this sort of Neanderthal treatment, she nevertheless did as she was told.

"Excellent. It's about time that you followed my orders." He smiled tightly.

"You can't think that you can get away with this, Ian," exclaimed the outraged witch as she sat up straight on the couch and glared coldly at her assailant.

"Oh, I think I can," he murmured smugly as he placed her wand on the top of her mantelpiece along with a rather bulky wrapped package that he'd brought with him. Then he turned back to his captive audience once more.

"Now, you and I are going to take a little trip down memory lane."

She shook her head and crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't understand."

"No, I'm sure that you don't, but you will. You will. You see, my dear ex-wife, you are going to give me what I want. Everything I want. Or you are going to prison…for murder."

Her jaw dropped open in astonishment then she laughed in his face. "Murder? You're insane. I never murdered anyone."

He smiled smugly and raised a knowing brow. "Oh, I'm afraid that you did, my dear, and I have the evidence to prove it. If you continue to act the fool and refuse me what I wish, I simply won't have any choice but to turn that proof over to the proper authorities, and I assure you, you won't like that, at all."

As she stared at his smug and arrogant face, her smile faded slightly. He certainly seemed confident that he had the upper hand here, but murder? Surely he must have lost his reason. If she'd murdered someone, she'd certainly remember it, and she didn't. Ergo, she hadn't. The thought was preposterous anyway; she'd never murder anyone, not even him, though at the moment, she was sorely tempted. What sort of lie was he trying to get away with here?

Ian's nasty smile deepened. "You're trying to remember, aren't you? Well, it won't do you any good because the memories aren't there anymore, but I assure you that doesn't change the fact that you did murder someone, and I have the proof."

His free hand inscribed an arc in the air, and he raised an eyebrow, posing like some phony Muggle conjurer. "Cast your mind back to the years of our marriage, Minerva. Do you remember a man named Henry Grant? He worked with the horses. You didn't have much contact with him, I know, but he must've crossed your path at some point before his final day with us."

Minerva frowned as she tried to recall the man in question, finally dredging up an image of a thin, sandy haired man with slightly shifty eyes. Yes, she did remember him. His manner had made her nervous; it was always on the edge of insolence. He'd never missed an opportunity to stare at her as if he'd have liked to personally peel off every stitch of clothing that she'd been wearing.

She raised her eyes back to Ian's, now filled with questions. "Yes, I do remember him. He disappeared. Suddenly. Without any explanation. I remember that everyone was a bit concerned for awhile, then it all died away, and everyone forgot all about him."

"Yes, convenient for you that he wasn't anyone of consequence, I suppose," his voice dripped sarcasm.

"Is he the one I'm supposed to have murdered? Why? Why on earth would I have killed someone I barely even knew?" The thought flabbergasted her.

"Ah, well, as I recall, you were rather angry with the man. He'd stolen money from us, you see. I remember you saying that he couldn't be allowed to get away with that sort of behavior. Then you stalked off to confront him. A while later, you were back, all upset, saying that somehow you'd killed him, and you wanted my help to dispose of the body. Naturally, I didn't believe you at first, but when I went out to the stables with you, there he was…dead. I told you to calm down and said that the best way for someone as talented as you were to dispose of a body was to transfigure it. So that's what you did. You transfigured Grant's body into a log and added it to the pile next to the stables, and that was the end of Henry Grant. No one ever suspected a thing."

Minerva was stunned. Not one word of this sounded the least bit familiar or even faintly believable. It was as if she were hearing a particularly grisly fairytale, certainly not something that had actually happened to her. Never in her wildest nightmares could she imagine herself acting in this callous manner. Refusing to believe, her shocked mind grasped onto one salient point in Ian's little story.

"What you're actually saying is that, although I killed this man, you helped me to dispose of the body? As I understand the law, Ian, that would make you an accomplice, and thus, as guilty as I supposedly am. How do you think you could turn me in for this crime if you participated in it, too?"

Ian shrugged casually. "I may have suggested a course of action, but you were the one to follow it, and the proof only points to you, my dear, not to me. I can deny any culpability at will, and no one can prove otherwise."

Suddenly furious, Minerva jumped up off the couch and faced her ex-husband directly. "This is absurd! What is this proof, Ian? What sort of proof could you possibly have that proves that I did this horrible thing? And if I did as you say, then why in hell don't I remember doing it? None of this makes the least bit of sense."

Ian smiled and reached out to pat Minerva on the cheek. "I thought you'd never ask."

Then he turned around and picked up the bulky package from the mantelpiece. He grasped Minerva by the arm once more and pulled her along with him across the room to her desk. There he released her and set his package down to be unwrapped. Inside the wrapping was a squared off rough stone bowl approximately six inches on a side.

"Do you know what this is, Minerva?" he asked, with a cocky tilt to his head.

The confused witch shook her head. "No. I'm afraid I don't. What is it?"

"It's a pensieve copy. Didn't you know that it's possible to copy the contents of a pensieve into a receptacle like this? I'm truly surprised at that gap in your education, you always gave me the impression that you knew everything." He smiled nastily. "Once the memories are in the copy, you can't alter them, nor can you go into the memory as you can with the original, but you can view them as if they were playing out in front of you like moving photographs. You see, my dear, the reason you can't remember what happened all those years ago is that you apparently removed the memories yourself and stored them in a pensieve. I have that pensieve in my possession, and this contains a copy of what you stored." He gestured to the stone box.

Minerva stared at the box. "But…even if I did put the memories into a pensieve, I'd still retain the memory of having done it. I'd have some faint recollection of the incident in question, and I don't." She looked up at him in confusion.

He shrugged carelessly in response to her bewilderment. "Well, whether you do or don't is irrelevant. The memories are here. Would you like to see them?"

She stared at him in horror. The desire to scream "No" as loudly as possible and run from the room was almost overpowering, but if there was even the slightest chance that he was telling the truth, she had to know. How could she fight this outrageous charge if she didn't know exactly what she was up against? So she forced herself to nod.

Satisfied, Ian smiled contentedly. "All right." Then he took his wand and prodded a small indentation on the side of the stone box. Instantly, it flickered to life, and she saw the inside of the old stables at Ian's estate. The images seemed to be shown through someone's eyes, but it wasn't possible to tell exactly whose at first. The perspective panned around the stables as if the person whose eyes they were seeing out of was looking around for something or someone. Suddenly, the man she remembered came into focus in front of her and took his cap from his head. His mouth moved as if addressing someone, but no sound came out. The man looked curious but not afraid. Then she saw a hand come up holding a wand, which was pointed straight at him. Leaning closer to the box, she tried to get a better look; it was her hand! That ring on her finger, it was hers. Though she no longer wore it, she still had it in a box in her bedroom.

The man in the stone box stepped back and looked worried. His mouth was continuing to move; from his manner, it seemed as if he was pleading for something. He held up a hand as if to ward off a blow, then suddenly there was a bluish green flash from the end of her wand, and the man lay still on the ground in front of her. She watched as the picture shifted perspective as if she was kneeling down beside the sprawled body. Her hand shot out and pressed itself to the side of the man's throat, but, clearly, he was dead. His eyes and mouth were open, and he stared off into nothing. Not even a faint sign of life remained.

Minerva felt her heart constrict at the sight. My god, could this actually be true?

Then the scene shifted abruptly. She was once more looking down at the body from a standing position. Her wand came into her field of vision, and she watched in disbelief as it made the correct sort of motions to effect a complicated transformation. Then, before her eyes, Grant's body shrank down and became a log; one completely indistinguishable from anything you'd see in the most ordinary woodpile. Her hands reached down and picked the log up, then, quite abruptly, the recording ended.

Stricken, Minerva looked up to meet Ian's triumphant gaze. "As you can see, it doesn't look very good for you, does it? Clearly the memories are yours. It's even more obvious in the real pensieve where you can actually go in and experience the full effect of the memories. There's also one more little bit of evidence against you, Minerva. Can you guess what it is?"

Numbly, she shook her head.

"Your wand, of course. Don't you remember? You reported it missing, perhaps stolen, at just that time, but of course, it was nothing of the sort. It was put carefully away along with the pensieve. I found them both, just recently, in an unused cupboard in your old room. If the wand is carefully examined, it clearly shows that the last two spells that were cast with it were a transfiguration spell to transfigure someone into a piece of wood…and Avada Kadavra."

"No," she whispered softly. Shaking her head, she backed away from Ian and turned around to clutch desperately at the back of a nearby chair. How could this be true? How? Everything suddenly seemed very far away. Her head was beginning to spin and nothing felt real or solid anymore. This couldn't be happening to her, it just couldn't. She'd never cast Avada Kadavra in her entire life…not once.

She staggered across the room and sank down onto the couch, covering her face with her hands. When she felt Ian's weight settle down onto the cushion next to hers, she uncovered her face and glanced across at him. "Why are you doing this?" she whispered desperately. None of this made any sense. What did the man hope to gain here? Surely he wouldn't go to this much trouble simply to avenge himself because she'd refused him.

Ian smiled in satisfaction and leaned in closer to her. His hand caressed her face and toyed gently with her hair as he spoke in a satisfied tone. "Ah, my lovely Minerva. As you can see, I hold your life in my hands. If I give this information to the Ministry, you'll be sent to prison, either for murder or for the use of an unforgivable. Either way, you'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban prison. However, it doesn't have to be that way if you agree to give me what I want."

She straightened up and glared at him, faint color returning to her cheeks. "I knew you were after something more than a resumption of a relationship with me," she spat angrily.

"Well, that's not strictly true. I meant every word when I said that I wanted you back in my life. I don't really want to remarry you, but I would have been willing, if you'd have cooperated. It certainly would've made things easier. I didn't really want to have to threaten you this way either, you know, but you gave me no choice. Anyway, I do want you to become my mistress; I spoke the truth when I said that I missed having you in my bed, but you're right, that's not all that I want from you."

"What else?" she choked out the words through gritted teeth.

"I want the McGonagall estate."

"What? That's what this is all about? You want my family's property?" My god, why hadn't that ever occurred to her? It should have. She knew how greedy the man was, and how much he hated to give up anything once he'd taken possession of it.

Ian nodded in satisfaction. "Yes, I want your property, and I want you to sign it over to me, as soon as possible."

Suddenly full of outrage once more, she leaped to her feet. "Never. That land has been in my family for hundreds of years. You have no right to it!"

"And who are you going to pass it on to? Your entire family is dead! You're the last of the McGonagalls, Minerva. Once you're gone, what do you think will happen to the estate? I'll tell you what; the Ministry will seize it. Well, I'm not about to let that happen. That land was mine once. I have need of it now, and I intend to own it again."

Minerva cocked her head speculatively as she gazed down on him. "And just why do you have this sudden need for my land? Who do you owe money to, Ian?"

Ian's face lost its color, and his eyes slid away from hers. "I never said I owed anything to anyone. This is simply a matter of righting an old wrong. That land should never have left my hands. Once I'd gained title to it, you should never have been allowed to take it away for me…never."

"You were the one who petitioned for the divorce, Ian! That made me the injured party, and it gave me rights that I might otherwise have forfeited, not to mention that as the sole heir to the McGonagall estate, I was under no obligation to leave it in the hands of someone who wanted to be rid of me! I had every right to reclaim my property upon our divorce. Every right! And I'm not giving it up to you now."

Ian spread his hands in supplication as he stood up to face her. "Think, Minerva! The evidence against you is overwhelming! You saw it for yourself! If I turn the pensieve and your wand over to the Ministry, you'll spend the rest of your life, what little will remain of it, in Azkaban prison. Is that what you really want? Is that worth title to a piece of land? Is it truly preferable to being touched by me again? You enjoyed being with me once. You could again." His voice was cajoling…persuasive.

The sound of it sent a chill down Minerva's spine. "No!" she cried, firmly. "I despised every moment that I spent in your bed. I will not become your property, nor will I give up my family home to your control. I won't do it. The walls of a real prison could not possibly be worse than being held prisoner by you."

"Oh, for god's sakes! Stop being so stubborn! Once you're sent to prison, I'll just petition to get title to the land anyway. As your ex-husband, I'll have a very good shot at it since you don't have any other remaining heirs. Why give up your comfortable life here in what amounts to a futile gesture. Either way…I win."

She simply stared at him in horror. Whatever she said, he had an answer for it, and the worst of it was, he might very well be right. If she was condemned to prison, she'd lose any rights she had as a member of the community. Anything she owned would be forfeit, and as the closest thing to a next of kin that she had left, unfortunately, he might very well succeed in a claim against the estate. What should she do?

Seeing her hesitation, Ian felt a small moment of triumph, if he could get her to agree to his terms, things would be a lot easier. He'd have her again, exactly as he wanted her, and he'd have the estate to plunder and sell off. Then, finally, he could give his Master the money he'd promised.

"You don't have to decide right now," his soft voice promised seductively. "Keep the recording and examine it more closely. I believe, if you think about it for awhile, you'll come to see that I'm right. There really is no other choice. I'll be here until Monday morning. I'll give you until Sunday night to decide. That's four days, surely you can make up your mind in that amount of time."

She just stood there in front of him as pale as a ghost. Seeing her so vulnerable was more tempting than he'd thought it would be. Holding this power over her was absolutely intoxicating; finally, he was going to win, he could feel it. The one thing he'd never truly been able to do was bend Minerva to his will. Throughout all the years of their marriage, no matter how he'd tried, she'd always defied him. There was even a small part of him that almost believed that she'd miscarried his children on purpose, just to deny him the one thing that he'd wanted so much.

Suddenly sure of his ultimate victory, he impulsively reached out and grabbed her roughly by the arms. Then he shoved her up against the wall next to the fireplace and leaned heavily against her, grabbing both of her flailing hands in one of his own, he ripped open the bodice of her gown and pressed his hungry mouth to the flesh of her breast.

This sudden unexpected assault brought Minerva back from whatever distant mental plane she'd been inhabiting, and she automatically began to struggle furiously against him. Through a combination of luck and sheer desperation, she managed to land a knee in his stomach, momentarily knocking him off balance. Angrily, he released her hands and slapped her hard across the face. When he did that, she was able to twist away from him and lunge for her wand where it rested nearby on the mantel. Seizing it in her hand before he could stop her, she spun around and faced him again, wand pointed unwaveringly at his chest.

"Stay back, Ian, or I swear I'll kill you!" she threatened.

He laughed and took a step closer. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me," she stated firmly, her voice cold and hard. "According to you, I murdered a man I had nothing against, in cold blood. So killing a man I despise really shouldn't be that difficult, now should it?"

He hesitated, and the first sign of fear flashed briefly through his eyes.

"You've bruised my face and ripped my gown. Who wouldn't believe it was self-defense if I kill you where you stand?" she asked, quite reasonably.

He shook his head. "If I die, I've arranged for the pensieve and the wand to be immediately sent on to the Ministry. I think they'd take one look at that evidence and suddenly your claims of self-defense might not be looked on so favorably."

"Maybe, maybe not. I only have your word for it that the evidence against me will be sent anywhere. You could be lying through your teeth; it wouldn't be the first time. Perhaps I should just take my chances."

He backed off a step. "Don't be a fool, Minerva."

Her wand wavered slightly. "You gave me four days to think things over, Ian. I swear if you push me anymore tonight, you'll have your answer right now. And it will be no!"

Ian could see the desperation in her eyes, and knew that if he continued on with this now, the game would be lost. Damn! He was so close. "Very well. You win…for now. I simply lost my head for a moment. I'll expect to hear from you by Sunday evening at the latest. Please, do give it very careful thought. Is a piece of land really worth your life?"

With a slight bow and a smirk, Ian turned and left the room, slamming the door behind him. As soon as the door clicked shut, Minerva's wand dropped from her numbed fingers. Then she staggered over to the couch and sank down onto it, grabbing a pillow and clutching it desperately, she stared with horrified eyes into the fire. What in Merlin's name was she to do now?


	17. Breakfast

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Seventeen: Breakfast**

Though nausea churned inside her stomach, Minerva forced herself to ignore it and kept moving forward. The walls seemed closer than usual, the air much more stuffy. The pictures all seemed to be whispering and looking at her oddly as she passed them on her way to breakfast. She could almost hear them snickering and pointing at the murderess. A harsh title that still seemed so impossible for her to apply to herself and yet…

A bunch of second and third year Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors came up behind her and gave her a cheery greeting as they went by on their way down to eat. After they'd gone past in a happy cluster, she found that she couldn't remember if she'd actually answered them or not. Her mind was clearly not on her surroundings, and that had to stop. How could she function at her job if she was so distracted? Somehow, she needed to pull herself together. All this worry could wait for another time, now she had to be the teacher, the administrator…the role model. Oh goddess, was it all a lie?

When she reached the doorway to the Great Hall, she took a deep breath and walked boldly in as usual, striding confidently through the sea of chattering students to reach her spot at the head table. She nodded to the other teachers as she passed them on the way to her chair, but she made eye contact with no one.

Without exception, every one of the colleagues she passed turned and stared after her in puzzlement. Minerva had been acting a bit tense lately, but this morning she looked downright haggard, as if she hadn't slept a wink all night. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her hair, usually immaculately dressed, was far from its usual tidy self. The bun at the back of her head sat slightly askew as if her hands had been shaking when she'd pushed in the restraining pins.

Once she'd sat down, Ian turned in his chair and smiled what appeared to be a friendly smile at her, though she, and probably she alone, could see the coldness in his eyes. "Good morning, Minerva. Isn't it a wonderful morning? It's such a pleasure to be up and about on a lovely day like this one. I went for a walk earlier. The air is crisp and cold with just a hint of snow in it. I'll bet we get a storm before long. Perhaps you should go outside and enjoy your last chance at freedom in the open air. If the storm hits, we may be imprisoned within stonewalls for quite awhile. That's so unpleasant, wouldn't you agree?"

A slight spasm of tightness grasped her about the throat as she listened to him baldly hint at the future that awaited her if she didn't give in to his blackmail. Though her face remained painfully pale and wan, her eyes snapped with defiance as she turned and eyed him with distaste.

"Oh, I don't know," she replied softly. "There are worse things than being confined, I think."

He chuckled and speared another fat sausage from a platter in front of him. Then he turned back as he deliberately cut the link into tiny pieces with a sharp blade. "Yes, you're probably right. I suppose that freezing to death might be worse," he murmured too low for others to hear. "I understand it's very, very cold up in the middle of the North Sea. Though a quick death might be preferable to a long, lingering confinement."

Her hand trembled as she tried to fill her teacup from one of the heavy pots that lined the breakfast table. Ian reached over and grasped the handle, lifting it with ease from her shaking hand and filling the cup for her with a solicitous smile. "Let me help you with that, Minerva, it's very full."

Murmuring a toneless thank you, she sat back in her chair and allowed him to fill her cup and then to dish some eggs and sausages onto her plate as if she were a child in his care. What did it matter what was put on her plate? She wasn't about to eat any of it anyway. Just the thought of consuming anything made her feel ill. As she turned her bitter gaze back to Ian when he finished serving her, he smiled again, leaned close and whispered, "What is the penalty for murder nowadays anyway? Now that the Dementors are no longer at Azkaban, I've heard that the Ministry is considering bringing executions back into vogue."

Her heart began to beat faster as he leaned even closer and raised a hand to intimately run a finger down her cheek and throat, caressing the skin delicately and no doubt outwardly appearing very tender and loving. "It would be such a shame to see that lovely neck cleaved from your shoulders by the sharp cold blade of an axe, wouldn't it? And so unnecessary," his voice gloated softly in her ear. As she shivered slightly at his words, he sat back in satisfaction and took a sip of his tea as he continued to smile at her over the rim of his cup with cold and unyielding eyes.

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From his vantage point farther down the table, Snape seethed quietly as he tore his sausages into tiny bits with his own rather sharp pieces of cutlery clenched tightly in white knuckled fingers. His narrowed eyes took in Minerva's slightly disheveled and wan appearance, and his thoughts ran off on their own little trip down speculation alley.

It seemed as if she couldn't even be bothered to put herself together properly before appearing in public. Obviously, she'd been in too much of a hurry to get down here to share breakfast with Standish. He'd have thought that they might have wanted to breakfast in private actually, but apparently she preferred to flaunt her conquest in a more public forum.

From the looks of her, Standish hadn't allowed her to get too much sleep last night. A sudden and vivid image of her pale naked skin offset against the rumpled sheets of his bed, and her skillful, and ever attentive, hands caressing his own body made the Potions master squirm uncomfortably in his chair and glower darkly down at the plate in front of him. She'd probably been hurrying off to her rooms alone last night simply so she could prepare herself for his later arrival. Why couldn't she have just been honest and admitted it?

Standish certainly looked well satisfied. That smug fool had practically swaggered as he'd come in to breakfast this morning. Snape frowned once more as he watched the insufferably arrogant wizard caress Minerva in a very possessive manner. No, there was little doubt that he'd managed to attain his goal last night if he hadn't before. Well, at least the pompous idiot wouldn't be coming around begging for Snape to intercede for him any more, and the Dark Lord should be well pleased.

That caused his frown to deepen even further as he wrenched his eyes away from the back of the dark haired witch's head to stare moodily off into space. What could the Dark Lord possibly want with her anyway? His ignorance on this point was troubling. He'd heard nothing at all that had ever indicated even the slightest interest in Minerva, and indeed, what could she have that he'd value?

He'd have to know that her loyalty would remain unwaveringly with Dumbledore, no matter who tried to persuade her otherwise. Had he somehow missed something? Was it possible that for some reason the Dark Lord was no longer trusting him with all of his plans concerning Hogwarts and its inhabitants? That was a disquieting thought.

On the other hand, he had been out of commission lately. Perhaps something had come up recently since his accident that he hadn't been made aware of yet. But how hard would it be to have sent along a message? There was so much about this whole situation that was worrisome, on more levels than he wanted to contemplate.

Unerringly his thoughts returned to the woman who was the focus of all this concern, as he watched Ian smile stupidly at her over the rim of his teacup. Couldn't she see that Standish was only using her? He'd always thought of Minerva as a shrewd and intelligent woman, not one to fall for someone as obvious and arrogant as Standish. Didn't she realize that whatever that self-satisfied cretin wanted he was only acting as an emissary for evil? Why was she being so foolish? His frown deepened. Was the man that good in bed?

Frustrated with what he perceived as the idiocy that seemed to surround him everywhere he looked, he decided that he'd had quite enough of watching Minerva allowing herself be fondled by that buffoon. She was welcome to act in any stupid way she wished. It really didn't matter a whit to him as long as she didn't betray any of his secrets. Not that he'd received adequate reassurances on that point. Perhaps he should have a talk with Albus and find out exactly what he'd asked Minerva to do to discover Ian's secrets.

Though he doubted that even Albus could persuade Minerva to fake an involvement with Standish against her wishes. She was far too stubborn a witch to be pushed into something that she didn't desire. No, if she was involving herself with that idiot, then it was most likely entirely her own choice, and a dangerous choice it was, too.

Well, it wasn't as if he cared what happened to her. If she didn't betray him, she could do as she damned well pleased. Unfortunately though, as long as his interests could be compromised, he'd need to watch them carefully, but he'd had all he could stomach for the moment. Tossing down his napkin and glancing once more towards the center of the table, Snape got up and made a hasty, and rather noisy, exit through the door behind the head table.

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With a raised brow and a speculative look, Dumbledore watched Snape glower darkly at Minerva and Ian and then stalk off like a rebuffed suitor, angrily slamming the door in his wake. Both Madam Pince and Professor Vector cringed slightly and glanced up at the slammed door in concern, but he noticed that neither Minerva nor Ian even seemed to notice.

Something was happening there, though it was difficult to tell exactly what it was. Dumbledore was forced to admit to himself that he was a bit concerned by Minerva's appearance. He couldn't remember ever seeing her come to breakfast looking so ill put together. Even after a rather late and busy night, which they'd all seen occasionally, she'd always been immaculately turned out the next morning. Not that she was a slovenly mess now, of course, but neatness was as natural to Minerva as breathing. Her clothes were always pressed and elegant, and her hair was always smoothly coifed. To look at her this morning, one might think that she hadn't gone to bed at all last night.

If that was the case, what could've caused it? Dumbledore concentrated on the couple beside him without appearing to do so. Ian looked oddly triumphant today. When he'd come in to breakfast, he'd seemed more confident and sure of himself than at any time since he'd arrived. It had made the Headmaster wonder if something of note hadn't happened. Could he have finally told Minerva just what it was he wanted from her? She did look rather unhappy and upset so that was certainly a possibility. If she didn't approach him later to discuss whatever had developed then he was going to have to make the time to go and see her. Perhaps after her first class of the day.

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Irma Pince set down her teacup and flinched as Snape slammed the door behind her when he fled the room so abruptly. The Potions master had clearly been very disturbed, and she had a pretty good idea what had been disturbing him. For some time now, she'd been suspecting that Snape had developed more feelings for Minerva than he was willing or able to admit. He'd been acting like a jealous schoolboy ever since Ian Standish had shown up at Hogwarts and kissed his ex-wife so publicly, and his reaction to the two of them this morning merely confirmed her suspicions.

It was hard to see exactly what had set him off though. While Ian certainly seemed extremely happy and satisfied at the moment, Minerva didn't look well at all. In fact, she almost looked ill. They didn't appear to be a loving couple to her in the slightest yet she had an uncomfortable feeling that that was the way Snape had viewed them. Of course, it was quite possible that his idea of what constituted a loving couple was rather different than hers was.

She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully and watched her friend with concern. Something was wrong. Something new had happened, and it was upsetting Minerva deeply. That was the only explanation that she could think of. Minerva McGonagall did not come to breakfast in the Great Hall with her clothes wrinkled and her hair mussed unless something was seriously wrong. The question was what, if anything, could she do to help?

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With a faint sigh, Poppy sat back in her place at the table and stared along its length at the couple near its center. She watched as Ian Standish poured tea for Minerva and filled her plate as if she was a child. Then he reached over and caressed the older woman's face and neck tenderly. How she wished that he'd touch her like that with those powerful hands of his, but obviously that wasn't going to happen. She'd given the man every opportunity, but he'd been fixated on Minerva ever since he'd arrived here. It didn't seem as if there was anything that she could do to intervene.

If he wanted Minerva, then so be it. It wasn't her fault if the foolish man would turn down a good time with a willing woman for someone who really didn't seem to want him at all. Poppy's eyes narrowed as she truly looked at Minerva for the first time that morning, having heretofore concentrated on her companion. The woman looked positively dreadful. There were bags under her eyes that you could pack a week's worth of clothes into. She looked awfully tired and seemed thinner than usual, too.

Perhaps, she should stop in to see her with a bottle of restorative tonic. Maybe the poor dear was truly ill. She could suggest that she come in for a check-up at the same time. They could have a nice little chat while she was examining her. Yes, Poppy smiled to herself. It was her duty to take good care of the staff as well as the students. She'd been concentrating on that ungrateful Potions master for so long that she'd neglected the rest of the staff shamefully. Well, she'd take care of that little oversight straight away…beginning with Minerva.

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Minerva sank down into the chair behind her desk as the last student left her classroom and almost cried with relief. How had she made it through that class? Had she made any sense at all? They'd all been staring at her in puzzlement a few times, but surely that was normal. After all, they didn't know the material she was trying to teach them. That was why they were there.

With a groan, she let her head fall down to rest on her crossed arms. There was yet another class this afternoon, then two tomorrow. Then she'd have two whole days without distractions and then… Then…what? She'd spent all last night going over and over it in her mind until she was so exhausted she could hardly stand upright. Yet she still couldn't remember a thing that she saw in that horrid stone bowl. For all that it appeared to be her hand, her ring, her wand…it just didn't seem to be her. None of it made any sense, but it did seem to lead to one inescapable conclusion. She'd apparently killed a man in cold blood and had buried the evidence from everyone, including herself, for decades. How was she to find a way to live with that knowledge? Should she even be allowed to?

A sudden light touch on her shoulder brought her head snapping up with a gasp. With her heart beating a sharp staccato, she looked up into the concerned blue eyes of the Headmaster. Of course, she should've realized that if she didn't go to him, he'd come to her. How was she to handle this?

"Albus," she whispered raggedly, as she put a hand to her cheek. Had she fallen asleep for a moment? Her brain had that fogged and distant feeling that indicated that she might've. "I…must've dozed off."

Dumbledore's face wore a worried frown. "Are you all right, Minerva? You seemed very tired and distracted at breakfast, and now I find you asleep at your desk. Didn't you rest well last night?"

She forced a shaky smile. "No. I really didn't, I guess. I've been quite tired all morning. Perhaps I'll go take a quick walk around the grounds to wake myself up a little."

Dumbledore nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. The cold air would probably wake you up quite effectively. Would you like some company?"

Minerva got to her feet and moved away around the desk. "No…no, I think I'd rather go alone. I need to mentally prepare for my afternoon class. A quiet walk alone will give me a chance to think." She edged towards the door.

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully but wasn't about to let her escape him that easily. "Before you go, do I need to ask?" He let the question hang there between them watching for her response.

Instantly, she stiffened and began to fidget with the skirt of her robe. "Ask?" She tried to look puzzled but had a feeling that she wasn't doing too good a job of it.

"About Ian. When he came in to breakfast this morning, it was clear that something had changed. His whole manner was more confident, as if he'd somehow managed to attain his goal. I was wondering if you knew why that might be. Has he told you yet why he's really here?"

Yes, her mind screamed. He wants to steal my life away from me and watch me be locked away forever. He wants to take the only thing that I have left from my family. He wants to own me again because he hates to lose anything that he once counted as his. But how do I tell you any of that? How do I tell you that I might've killed…no…murdered a man, and hidden the crime for half a century?

She stared helplessly at her friend. Telling him the truth just wasn't possible at the moment. The words to explain just weren't there. How could she explain any of this when she still didn't understand it herself? So just to add insult to injury and make herself feel even worse…she lied.

"No." She cleared her throat when it came out in a croak. "He still hasn't told me anything more than before. Last night, he just continued on with more of the same. Telling me how much he wanted to have me back in his life. I haven't been able to get him to say anything different, I'm afraid. I'm sorry."

She watched the Headmaster with nervous and guilty eyes, clearly he didn't believe her, she could see suspicion written plainly all over his face. Oh, she hated lying; she just hated it.

"I'm sorry to hear that. I had high hopes that we'd finally made some headway in discovering Ian's true purpose here," Dumbledore said quietly with a sad and slightly puzzled look on his face.

"Have you learned anything from your contacts who were looking into Ian's affairs?" Minerva asked. Obviously, Ian must be in tight financial straits if he wanted her estate so badly, but it would be nice to have independent confirmation of that.

Dumbledore nodded. "As a matter of fact, I received a report just this morning. It appears that Ian is indeed a bit short of funds. He has quite a few debts, some of long standing. If he was required to pay out a large sum of cash right now, he couldn't manage it without causing himself severe problems. Once Severus is summoned again, perhaps he can quietly investigate whether or not Standish has committed any money to a current venture of Tom's. He hasn't asked you for money by any chance, has he?"

Asked? Oh, god, if only all he'd done was ask. Minerva continued to walk towards the door of her classroom as casually as she could. She had to get out of here. Lying to Albus Dumbledore's face was one of the hardest and most uncomfortable things she'd ever done. "No, Ian hasn't asked me for any money, Albus, and I'm sorry that I can't seem to find the answers you need. I am trying, honestly, but Ian just keeps spouting the same tiresome drivel about wanting me to come back to him. I'm beginning to think that he may be sincere after all…though obviously horribly misguided."

Her hand clutched the doorknob tightly, having finally reached her goal. Almost free. She turned back and flashed an uneasy smile at the Headmaster as she opened the door. "I should go and take that walk before lunch, I think. Please, excuse me." Then without waiting for an answer, she fled through the door and off down the corridor, leaving Dumbledore to stare after her with troubled eyes.


	18. Support Through the Storm

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Eighteen: Support Through the Storm**

Shaking a light coating of rainwater from her cloak, Minerva entered the castle after her walk and headed for the closet in the entryway. A shower had come up while she'd been walking, and she'd been caught by the leading edge of it before she could get back inside. Although it had been cold outside, it was definitely not quite cold enough to snow just yet, though it would probably be coming any day now. Perhaps tomorrow or the next day, they'd wake to a blanket of white covering the mud and dying grass, but for today it was only cold rain and dark gloomy clouds which suited her mood just perfectly.

When she turned away from the closet after having hung up her cloak, she found herself staring straight into the eyes of Severus Snape as he stood silhouetted in the doorway to the Great Hall, apparently after having just finished his lunch. For a moment, the two of them simply gazed unblinkingly at each other across the open expanse of the entry hall. Irrationally, she found herself wanting to cross the room and bury her face in the front of his robes, seeking comfort and help in his embrace. She could almost feel the warm strength and reassurance that his arms could offer her, but the sheer certainty of his cold and mocking reaction to her admitting to needing or wanting anything from him held her stiffly in place.

His eyes were their usual impenetrable black pools. It was impossible to tell what he might be thinking from his totally blank expression. As she watched him, unable to look away, the thought crossed her mind that they might simply stand there and stare at each other, lost in their own thoughts and each other's glances, for eternity unless something happened to break the spell that time seemed to have woven between them.

Since they were in public, naturally the spell didn't last for long. A few students came up behind Snape and walked past him through the doorway and across the entrance hall heading for the stairs as they gabbled to each other in a friendly fashion. They were followed by Poppy, who called out to Minerva as she crossed the hall herself, brushing easily past the Potions master with a brief smile.

These sounds of normalcy seemed to bring Snape back from wherever he'd been, and he turned away from the object of his attention and stalked off down the corridor heading for the dungeon stairs. A slight feeling of disappointment and loss tugged at Minerva as she watched him walk quickly away from her, and she had to force herself to smile and turn to greet the nurse.

"Hello, Poppy. What can I do for you?" she asked.

Poppy took her arm briskly and turned her towards the staircase. "Actually, Minerva, the question should be, what can I do for you? I was noticing at breakfast how tired and worn out you've been looking. Haven't you been sleeping well?" The nurse's kind eyes swept over her appraisingly with a look of genuine concern.

Taken by surprise, Minerva allowed herself to be led to the stairs and to start up them with the nurse's firm grip on her arm guiding the way.

"Oh, well…no, I haven't been sleeping particularly well lately. Things do tend to get awfully busy at this time of year, but I'm fine, Poppy, really. Thank you for your concern, though."

"Nonsense. This is more than simply a case of being busy. You have horrible circles under your eyes, Minerva, and you've seemed awfully nervous for days. You know, if there's anything that you might need to talk about, I'm always available to listen to your problems. It's part of my job. Why don't you come with me now, and let me give you a bottle of my best restorative tonic. It'll perk you right up again, and you can tell me what's been going on in your life that's keeping you from getting all the rest that you so clearly need." Poppy smiled.

By this time, they'd almost reached the infirmary anyway so Minerva decided that she'd just take the bottle of tonic and leave as quickly as possible. The large, airy room was empty when they entered it, and Poppy guided Minerva right down its length and into her office. Once there, she indicated a chair and turned to rummage around inside a cabinet.

When the matron turned back with a bottle in her hand, Minerva was still on her feet waiting with an impatient expression on her face.

"I really have to be going, Poppy. I have a class to get to. While it's true that I have been having a bit of trouble getting a full night's sleep recently, I don't think it's really anything to worry about. Perhaps I simply need a mild sleeping draught. I'm sure that if I got a night's uninterrupted rest, I'd be fine."

Poppy frowned. "I really think it would be a good idea for you to let me examine you, Minerva. You've seemed to be under more stress than usual lately. I wouldn't want to give you a sleeping draught without trying to make an effort to discover the cause of the sleeplessness first."

Minerva snorted shortly. Oh, she knew the cause of the problem all right, and the last thing she was going to do was talk about it with Poppy. Instead, she forced a smile and said, "I really think that the cause of the sleeplessness is nothing more than having to deal with a full workload, and the extra strain of having a visiting dignitary in the school at the moment. It's nothing to be overly concerned about, I'm sure."

Poppy's eyes gleamed slightly. "Yes, I imagine that Mr. Standish has been taking up quite a lot of your free time, hasn't he? Perhaps spending so many late nights in his company is the source of your tiredness." An eagerness crept into Poppy's expression as she watched Minerva closely.

Oh goodness, how could she have forgotten Poppy's evident interest in Ian? Hoping to cut the conversation short before it drifted into truly uncomfortable waters, she held out her hand for the tonic. "Thank you for the tonic, Poppy, I'm sure that it will perk me right up. Once Ian leaves, things will get back to normal, and that extra strain on my time will be gone. If I'm still having trouble sleeping then, I'll come back and let you give me a thorough examination, I promise. Now, I really do have to go or I'll be late for my class."

Without waiting for a reply, the slender witch took the bottle of tonic from Poppy's hand and, with a final brief smile, turned and left the office without a backward glance.

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The flickering pictures faded to nothingness once more, and Minerva raised her head from the stone box with a sigh. No matter how many times she watched it, she still couldn't make it seem real. Perhaps what she really needed was to see the memories in the actual pensieve, but there was no way that Ian would allow that to occur. He'd never trust her in the same room with his precious evidence, and she could hardly blame him. If their positions were reversed, she wouldn't do it either.

Her mouth thinned to a grim line, and she shook her head firmly. No. That wasn't true. If their positions were reversed, she'd never be stooping to blackmail to get her hands on something that she had no right to in the first place, but then there was a rather fundamental difference between herself and Ian. Which was one of the many reasons why marriage to him had been such hell.

Suddenly, a house-elf appeared in front of the fireplace carrying a rather heavy looking tray. His unexpected appearance surprised her badly and set her heart to racing.

"Scoder, my goodness, you startled me," she exclaimed, pressing a hand to her breast.

Scoder bowed as much as possible with the heavily laden tray in his arms and looked extremely apologetic. "Scoder is so sorry he startled Professor Minerva McGonagall. Please, forgive his intrusion."

With a sigh, she slipped her wand into her pocket and closed the top of her roll-top desk to hide the pensieve copy from view, then she crossed the room to where the house-elf was laying his burden on a small table against the wall where she occasionally took her meals in private.

Indicating the loaded tray with her hand, she asked, "What is all this, Scoder? I didn't ask for anything from the kitchen. I just got back from dinner."

Scoder bowed more freely now that he'd freed himself from his burden and smiled. "This was ordered for you, Professor Ma'am. Scoder was told to say that he hopes you enjoy it." Then with a final bow, the elf vanished.

Minerva eyed the laden table with a worried frown. What now? Carefully, she lifted the silver lid off of a plate of goodies, and sighed with relief. As a knock sounded at the door, she raised her eyes and smiled, calling out, "Come in, Irma. The door's open."

Irma Pince opened the door and entered with a smile on her face. "Oh good, it's arrived. Scoder is one of the more efficient elves, I must say. Trust you to snag a good one, Minerva. Not that there really are any bad ones, I suppose."

Irma closed the door behind her and crossed the room to stand next to her friend. Minerva smiled kindly at her.

"This is very sweet, Irma, but what's it all about?" she asked curiously. "We both just came from dinner."

Waving Minerva towards the chair on the other side of the small table, Irma took a seat and filled a plate with several of Minerva's favorite lemon pastries. Then she set them in front of the puzzled witch and placed one on a plate for herself. Before answering, she began to fill two cups with tea and fixed her friend with a stern frown.

"Yes, indeed, we both did just come from dinner. The difference is that one of us actually ate it, and one of us didn't."

Minerva glanced away guiltily. "I wasn't very hungry."

Irma's frown deepened as she set the teacup firmly in front of her friend. "Don't give me that drivel, Minerva McGonagall, it's not going to work. I've been watching you today. You look as if you're about to keel over from exhaustion, and you haven't eaten anything all day. You did nothing more than push food around on your plate at both breakfast and dinner, and you never made it to lunch, at all. And don't bother telling me that you ate in your office, either. I checked with the kitchen. They haven't sent anything to you all day."

Minerva frowned and opened her mouth to protest. "Irma…"

The librarian raised a hand. "No, I don't want to hear a word out of you until after you've eaten some of these. Dobby told me that they'd just come out of the oven. I know you especially like them when they're warm. So, please, just eat a few, and then we can talk. Okay?"

Minerva let her eyes drop to the soft warm pastries in front of her as they sat there temptingly oozing lemony filling. Suddenly, for the first time all day, she felt famished. So she nodded. "All right. Thank you, Irma. This was very thoughtful."

Irma sipped her tea and smiled a pleased smile. "My pleasure."

For the next few minutes, the room was filled with nothing except the pleasant smell of lemon and a companionable silence broken occasionally by the faint clink of china touching china. While they ate, though, both witches' minds were busily racing in opposite directions. Irma was desperately trying to figure out how to discover what was disturbing her friend so much at the same time that Minerva was attempting to figure out how to keep her secrets to herself, without insulting this friend who'd tried so hard to help her.

Finally, Minerva set her cup down for the last time and gazed happily at her empty plate. "Oh, that was wonderful. I guess you were right, Irma. I was more hungry than I thought."

Irma smiled in return. "You're welcome. Now that you've been refortified, and are no longer in danger of fainting from hunger, will you please tell me what's wrong? You're worrying me to death, you know."

Minerva raised her eyes reluctantly and shook her head. "Really. There's nothing wrong. I've just been horribly busy, that's all…" Her voice faded away as Irma crossed her arms and shook her head in response.

"I'm really getting a little insulted at your estimate of my intelligence, Minerva. Anyone who knows you can tell that there's something wrong." She dropped her voice to a disgusted murmur, "If they're willing to look properly." Then she continued in a louder voice, "Please, can't you let me help? I'm really a very good listener, you know, and I can be very discreet."

"There's nothing that you can help me with, Irma. I…you're right. There is something that's worrying me, but really it's extremely personal, and I just can't tell anyone about it. Not even you. I'm sorry. There wouldn't be anything you could do to help me anyway. I need to figure out what to do on my own."

Irma sighed, unsure how to voice her suspicions. "Are you sure that I can't help? I mean, I already know… That is, I believe…"

Minerva's eyes opened wide in horror. What could Irma possibly know? Surely Ian wouldn't have told anyone else.

"Is it Severus?" Irma blurted out suddenly.

"Severus?" exclaimed Minerva in surprise, as her heart leaped into her throat. Good heavens. What could Irma know about Severus? Oh, surely their arrangement wasn't going to become public knowledge now. Not now that it was all over and done with. That was all she needed on top of everything else. She'd never live it down.

Irma nodded nervously. "Yes. His behavior has been absolutely dreadful lately, worse than ever. This afternoon, he apparently reduced an entire class of first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws to tears! He's been stomping around and glaring at everyone as if he's mad at the world for existing."

Oh, thank goodness. Minerva's heart dropped back into her chest where it belonged, but she relaxed too soon she realized as Irma finished her little speech.

"I've been thinking that his problem might be…jealousy." Irma eyed her friend closely.

"Jealousy?" Minerva could feel the heat rising up the column of her throat as she asked, "What makes you think that Severus is jealous? Of what or who?" Her voice faded away. What a preposterous idea.

Irma shrugged. "Well…of you. I think he's…well… I have a feeling that he cares for you more than he'd ever admit. I think he's seeing Ian Standish as a threat to his relationship with you and is disturbed by it, and I thought that maybe that was what was upsetting you. I've noticed him watching the two of you and…" Irma's voice trailed away as Minerva threw back her head and laughed heartily.

Oh, how ironic. That Irma could possibly think this was a case of two men vying for her affection, when the truth of the situation was that each one of them was only concerned with his own well being. Neither cared a whit for her, at all.

"Oh, Irma. I can assure you that Severus isn't the least bit jealous over me."

"Oh," the librarian whispered in a small voice. "Are you sure?"

Minerva sighed heavily and wiped a lingering tear from her eye. "Oh, yes, I'm quite sure. Severus Snape is worried about no one but Severus Snape. Trust me on this. However, if he's truly abusing his students then I'm glad that you brought it to my attention. I will try to make it a point to speak to him tomorrow."

"Okay," Irma said. One theory shot down. Perhaps a second would do better. "Then is Ian the problem?"

Minerva stiffened in her chair, and the smile faded from her face. "Irma, I told you. My problem is personal."

"I know, but I also know that you've been troubled by Ian ever since he first arrived here. He's been pushing himself into your life again. Everyone is aware of it. Subtlety doesn't seem to be something he's very good at."

"No. It never was," exclaimed Minerva tartly.

"Please, are you sure that I can't help you? Even if I can't do any more than listen, sometimes that can be more helpful than you think," Irma pleaded softly.

Oh, the temptation to tell her friend the truth almost overwhelmed Minerva as she listened to the sincere desire to help in the librarian's voice and saw the pleading look in her eyes. Only the thought of the horrified look that would replace it once she discovered that her friend might have actually murdered someone in cold blood stilled her tongue. Irma couldn't possibly understand if she couldn't understand it herself, and the thought of having her turn away in disgust and horror was more than the worried witch could bear.

Minerva dropped her eyes away and stood up. "Please, don't ask me any more questions, Irma. I think it's time for you to leave. I have a fair amount of grading to do this evening, and I should get to it."

Irma got to her feet and sighed. "All right. I won't push you any more."

The two women walked slowly across the room side by side, and Minerva opened the door to her room to let her friend out. Irma paused on the threshold and laid a warm hand on Minerva's arm.

"If you change your mind… If there's anything that I can do…at any time. Please, please, let me. Okay?"

Minerva nodded and as the librarian turned away, she drew her back with a final thought. "Actually, there is one thing you can do for me, Irma."

"Oh? What's that?" she asked eagerly.

"Does the library happen to have any books on pensieves? I need some information on their uses."

Caught off guard by the question, Irma stared at her friend blankly for a moment, then she frowned and considered the question. "Pensieves? Well, I'm not sure. I think we might have something. I'll check and get back to you."

Minerva smiled. "All right. I really do need the information quickly, though."

"Okay. I'll check right away, and if we do, I'll find it and see that you get the book no later than tomorrow. Will that do?"

"Yes, thank you." Then with a final slightly brittle smile, Minerva closed her door quietly leaving a rather puzzled Irma Pince standing thoughtfully in the corridor.


	19. Searching For Answers

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Nineteen: Searching for Answers**

As gray clouds churned through a leaden sky, Minerva sipped a cup of tea and looked out her window with unseeing eyes, worrying over her predicament like a small dog with a bone. The idea of facing a repeat of yesterday's breakfast had repelled her so much that she'd kept to her rooms this morning and to hell with the consequences. How much worse could things get anyway? Seeing Ian, Albus…or Severus was more than she could handle this early in the morning.

Despite having thought of almost nothing but that damnable pensieve, and its damnable contents, ever since she'd been made aware of its existence, she still couldn't decide what course of action she should take. Every time she thought she'd made a decision, something nagged at her to change her mind again.

Giving in to Ian revolted her. Just the thought of letting him touch her again made her skin crawl. Memories of her married life that she'd blocked out and hidden away were suddenly exploding onto the surface of her mind like jetsam thrown up by the ocean after a violent storm. As she reluctantly picked through these relics from her past, she'd realized even more strongly what a nightmare married life had been. Living through it had been a victory. She'd escaped to a different life and going back in any way was just unthinkable.

Scars still lingered on her lower back from a flogging Ian had given her with a horsewhip one time when she'd displeased him over some trifle. The thought of having to explain their creation to anyone had kept her from having them removed, so instead she'd merely kept them buried beneath layers of fabric for decades, as she'd buried the memories of that hateful time.

Severus had wondered about what had caused the marks and had been quite surprised, and perhaps even a little concerned, to see them on her body, but she'd managed to keep her secrets. In the end, they'd both agreed not to question each other about their physical scars and personal pasts, and that had seemed a satisfactory compromise.

The thought of putting herself back into the power of such a man once more scared her to death, and how could she just hand over her family's legacy to him so that he could use it to further some scheme of that monster he supported? For clearly, that was what it would be used for. After all, Severus said he was a backer, and Albus said he was currently short of funds. Nothing else made sense. Wasn't she obligated to fight that evil in any way she could…no matter the cost?

She set her cup of now tepid tea down on her desk and stared down at the pensieve copy once more. There didn't seem to be an easy answer here. If she gave in to Ian's blackmail, she'd never have a free moment to herself again. He'd hold this power over her forever. She'd lose her family's holdings, and those holdings would go to support this evil that she was trying to destroy every day, but at the same time she'd be able to maintain some semblance of a life. She could keep her job; continue to live here at Hogwarts. She could pretend that life hadn't changed, but it would all be a lie. Wasn't that course of action the very antithesis of everything that she'd ever believed in?

If she was truly a murderess then she needed to be punished. She should be condemned to Azkaban. She deserved it. But what if she took this course only to find out that it wasn't true but was just another lie? And that she wasn't guilty of this horrible crime, after all? She'd lose her life, her freedom, and Ian might still be able to get his hands on her estate and deliver its value to Voldemort anyway. What should she do? What was the right answer?

She ran a thoughtful finger around the rough stone rim of the pensieve copy. What was the truth about this thing? Was it a faithful copy of what was in the pensieve or was that a lie as well? She hadn't thought that you could copy memories, but if you could remove and store them, copying them shouldn't be outside the realm of possibility. Why wasn't there any sound, though? In a normal pensieve, if you went into the memory, you experienced it just as if you were there, sound included. Was that true in this pensieve as well, and the lack of sound was just a limitation of the copying process? Possibly.

With a deep sigh, she hugged herself tightly and moved away from the desk toward the warmth of the fire crackling comfortingly on her hearth. If she somehow went into that pensieve and watched herself do those things, would she hear herself utter those words that she could hardly make herself think, much less say? She shivered at the thought.

She needed more information. Hopefully, Irma would have some useful information about pensieves in the library. Then, perhaps, she could learn something that would actually help her. Goodness knows what that might be, but at the moment she was wandering around in the dark, and if she didn't find a way to cast some light on her situation soon, she'd be spending the rest of her artificially shortened life in the deepest sort of darkness that there was.

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In the quiet of the library, Irma Pince pulled the book on memory off the shelf and looked at it curiously. Not surprisingly, they didn't have anything in the collection that was focused solely on pensieves. It wasn't a subject that the students had that much need of in-depth knowledge about, and the collection was basically geared towards their needs. There should be a chapter on them in this book though, along with a discussion of memory blocking and enhancing charms, obliviation, and other mental disciplines that could affect the memory. Hopefully, it would be what Minerva was looking for. If not, perhaps she could be a bit more specific, and then a more effective search could be done.

A frown crossed the librarian's face; though if it concerned whatever was bothering her friend so much, she didn't hold out a lot of hope that she'd be told anything more helpful. Minerva could be an extremely stubborn woman when she dug in her heels and refused to tell you something. Arguing with her wasn't going to get you very far.

Although Irma certainly wanted to help her friend, she didn't wish to anger her, or add to her worries. Curious now, she flipped through the book to the chapter on pensieves and wandered back to her desk as she read. It all seemed fairly dry and straightforward. With a snort of disgust, she closed the book firmly and laid it on her desk. Without knowing the question, the answer wouldn't help her even if it was staring her right in the face. Reading that book wouldn't help her to help her friend, but giving it to her might. She could only hope.

Idly, she raised her eyes from the desk and scanned the quiet room. It was early afternoon and most of the students were still in classes, so there weren't very many people around. Perhaps she should take the book to her friend now. The librarian reconsidered. No. Minerva had a class now, too. It would be better to do it after dinner. Abruptly, a sudden flash of blackness caught her eye.

Someone dressed in black was moving around amongst the shelves that contained most of the volumes on potions. Three guesses who it is, Irma, and the first two don't count, she told herself dryly. As she thought about the Potions master, her recent suspicions came strongly back to mind. Just because Minerva didn't believe that Snape cared about her or was jealous of whom she spent her time with, didn't mean that it wasn't true. Her observations could still be correct. Perhaps she should test them out a bit?

Picking up the book from her desk once again, Irma walked quietly across the library and peered down the row of shelves that Snape was standing behind. The dark wizard was holding a fairly substantial tome in his hands and was turning the delicate pages carefully with a black and forbidding scowl on his face. Apparently, the book wasn't to his liking at all. Irma had a feeling that she probably wouldn't be either, but decided not to let that fear stop her.

"Severus," she called pleasantly, placing her calmest and most professional smile on her lips. "Could I ask you to do me a favor?"

Snape's head snapped up quickly as if her voice had surprised him, though he gave no other outward sign. He stared at her for a moment with narrowed eyes, then closed the book in his hands with a snap and turned to face her directly, moving to within a foot of her position to use his greater height to its most intimidating advantage.

Staring haughtily down his nose at her, he stated dryly, "You can always ask." The unspoken continuation to that was…it's your time to waste, after all.

The man knew how to intimidate, no question about that. Still, she was tougher than most people thought, and she decided to press onward.

"I need your advice about Minerva." She scanned his face carefully, but apart from a sudden watchfulness, there wasn't any obvious change of expression. The silence stretched out as she tried to decide how to word her request until Snape was the one to blink.

"Yes?" The word was drawn out coldly and accompanied by a rising eyebrow.

With a nervous gulp, she raced ahead with her thoughts before she lost her nerve. "I'm worried about her. She hasn't been eating…or sleeping. Something is very wrong. She won't tell me what the problem is, but I thought…I mean, I hoped, that you might have better luck. Or some advice on what else to try?"

"The two of you are friends. If she won't talk to you, what on earth makes you think that I could do any better?" he asked, quite reasonably.

Irma paused and just stared at him. Good question. How could she possibly tell him why without admitting what she suspected about the man's feelings for her friend?

When she didn't seem to be coming forward with a response, Snape shifted the large book against his chest and frowned at her. "In any event, you don't really have any cause to worry."

"Oh?" she said in surprise.

"No. Minerva isn't ill or worried. She's infatuated." The last word was spat out like poison.

Irma blinked. Ah ha. "You really think so?"

"It doesn't take a genius to have noticed that Minerva is once more involved with her ex-husband. I'm sure that she looks tired and is more picky with her food because she's spending her time doing other things. I really think your worries are misplaced. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere else that I need to be." Snape turned back to the shelf and slid the volume he was holding firmly back into its place.

As he turned around once more and tried to move past the librarian, she stepped directly into his path. "Oh no, I'm sure that you're wrong about that, Severus," she said in a slightly breathy voice.

He paused and looked down at her, his face a study in contrast. Should he swat her aside and stalk out or listen to what she had to say? Curiosity won out. "Really." The word was stated low and full of skepticism, but there was uncertainty in his eyes.

Irma nodded earnestly. "Yes. Minerva is afraid of Ian. I'm positive of that. She told me flat out that she's not involved with him. I think... I'm afraid that the man might be threatening her in some way. She's not eating or sleeping because she's worried about something, and I think it has to do with Ian." She thrust out her chin defiantly. Somehow she was going to make this stubborn man listen to her.

"She admitted to me that there is something wrong. She just won't tell me what it is, except to say that it's personal," Irma continued. "I just thought that someone else might have better luck. I know that you and Minerva are…colleagues. Sometimes you can confide in someone who isn't as close, who doesn't have a personal stake in your life." Let's see how that goes over.

Snape hesitated. "She told you that something is wrong…and that she's not involved with Ian Standish?"

Give that man a gold star.

She nodded encouragingly. "Yes, she did. Then you'll help me? You'll speak to her?" Relief crept into her voice only to be dashed at the cool response she got.

"No." His face hardened, and his voice was cool.

"No?" What did it take to get through to this man?

"No. As you say, Minerva and I are colleagues; we are not friends. I will not pry into her personal life. She wouldn't appreciate it any more than I would if our positions were reversed. If she will not tell you the truth, she most certainly will not tell me."

The truth? Oh, goodness, he still doesn't believe me, thought Irma, how stubborn can any one man be?

Snape brushed by the stunned woman and headed out of the library. For a moment, she just stood there and watched him go, not sure just what else she could say to convince him until her glance fell on the book that she still had clutched in her hands. "Severus, wait." She hurried after him.

With a sigh, he turned back around. "What is it now? I do have other things that I need to attend to. I cannot afford to dally here all day listening to you worry over nothing." His voice was full of impatience.

"If you won't speak to Minerva, would you do me another favor instead?" Perhaps if one approach wouldn't work, another might be more successful. "She wanted this book for some reason. Said it was very important that she get it right away. Unfortunately, I don't have time to take it to her right now. Would you drop it off for me?" She held her breath and held out the book.

Snape hesitated for a moment. Then curiosity won the day once more, and he reached out and took the book from her hand. A frown of puzzlement crossed his face as he glanced down at the title. "_You Must Remember This: Exploring the Secrets of the Mind"_. "Whatever does she want this for?"

Irma shrugged. "I don't know, she wouldn't tell me, but I'll bet it has something to do with whatever is bothering her so much. Will you give it to her?"

She could see the moment of decision in his eyes, as with a brief nod, he slipped the book under his arm and turned away again heading for the door. "I will see that she gets it," was his final comment as he swept out the door and out of her sight.

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Minerva reached out a hand for her doorknob, but before she could touch it, a low voice cut through her distracted thoughts from just behind her.

"Will you be joining us for dinner, Minerva, or do you have more private plans?"

With a sharp intake of breath, she turned and stared up into the cool, composed features of the Potions master. How had he gotten so close without her noticing? That wasn't a good sign, at all. Though he certainly moved very silently, she was usually much more aware of her surroundings than that. She felt a slight shiver go through her at his nearness, and she found herself remembering the last time she was so close to him. No, even closer. Her thoughts lingered for a moment on the feeling of all those lovely buttons pressed against her breasts and down along her ribcage…and something even more tantalizing pressed against her abdomen.

Before she could make the mistake of reaching out and touching him now, she took an abrupt step backwards and felt herself brush up against her chamber door. "Severus. You startled me. Is there something that I can do for you?"

"Yes, you can take this." He held out the book on memory.

She took it automatically with a puzzled expression. "What is it?"

"It's some book that Madam Pince asked me to give to you."

"Oh. Oh, yes. Thank you." She grasped the book eagerly. Oh, please let it give her some answers.

"Are you working on a special project of some sort?" His eyes skimmed over her face, noticing its careworn appearance and the deep circles under her eyes. For the first time, he let himself entertain some doubt as to what had put them there. As unlikely as it seemed, could it be that Irma Pince was right, and she wasn't involved with Ian Standish, after all?

"A project…yes," she murmured.

"Maybe you're taking on too much. You look…rather tired," he suggested softly.

Was that concern she heard in his voice? She looked up into his eyes, but saw nothing but deep shadow. "I'm fine," came her automatic answer, delivered with a tone of finality.

"Really." His response was sharp edged. "Well, you've certainly looked better, then. Perhaps, Mr. Standish is keeping you up too late?" Deny it, Minerva…

An overpowering weariness washed over her at the thought of arguing about this with him yet again. No matter how much she denied her involvement with Ian, Severus refused to believe her, didn't seem to want to believe her, and frankly, what difference did it really make at this point? She might not be here too much longer to keep beating her head against the wall of his suspicions, anyway. Just let it go. Let him go.

"I'm sure that I could use more sleep. Thank you for the book," she said in a quiet tone, as she began to turn away.

Anger surged through him at her answer. He wasn't wrong. Pince was! She didn't deny her involvement with Standish because she couldn't. He reached out and seized her by the arm before she could open her door and escape from him. "Are you heeding my warning?" he hissed shortly.

A flash of answering anger suddenly flooded through her. He should know better, damn it! Why didn't he?

"I have never betrayed you, Severus, not in anyway, and I never will," she spat back.

"See that you don't," he stated with firm arrogance.

"You have no right to lecture me about my behavior. You're the one whose behavior could stand a little correction from what I understand. I've heard rather distressing reports of how you've been acting in the classroom lately. You should never berate the students to the point of tears no matter how they've misbehaved. That's why we have a detention system. You need to treat your students with more respect."

"Don't tell me how to teach my classes, Minerva. You know nothing about what was going on. You weren't even there." His grip tightened on her arm, and he took a menacing step forward.

She glared up into his forbidding face and slipped easily into lecture mode. "It's my responsibility as Deputy Headmistress of this school to see that all the professors are adhering to a professional standard of conduct. Yours has come dangerously close to not meeting those standards lately. You'd better get a hold of your temper, Severus, or you'll regret it."

"You have no business threatening me. How good a role model of decorum are you being at the moment, Deputy Headmistress?" His voice hissed the syllables and stretched them out obscenely. "You're carrying on an affair with a married member of the Board of Governors in front of the entire school, beginning with a torrid embrace in front of all the students and staff. Don't you dare to lecture me about behavior, Minerva. Yours won't stand up to much scrutiny at the moment."

Without allowing her even an instant to respond, he cast her arm away from him as one would throw away trash and stalked off with his robes swishing angrily about his legs.

"I am not having an affair!" she called after him in frustration, but without giving any sign that he'd heard her, he turned the nearest corner and disappeared from her sight.


	20. When Worries Lurk in the Dark of Night

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty: When Worries Lurk In The Dark Of Night**

Minerva shifted slightly in bed as a warm weight settled against her, and a low familiar voice whispered in her ear.

"I've missed you, Minerva. Have you forgotten about our arrangement?"

"Severus?" Her lips curved into a smile. "We had to call it off while Ian was here, don't you remember?" she murmured sleepily, enjoying the feeling of his hand moving ever so slowly up along her thigh.

With a horrid swiftness, the hand on her thigh grasped her cruelly, and with the aid of its mate, forced her over onto her back. She gasped and opened her eyes fully to find herself staring up into the angry brown eyes of her ex-husband.

Before she could move a muscle, he raised a hand and slapped her face so hard that she could feel her neck crack as it was wrenched to the side by the force of the blow. "Don't ever speak another man's name when you're in bed with me, Minerva! Not ever!"

She moaned with pain and began to struggle against him as he pinned her down firmly and began to roughly yank her nightdress up over her hips, ripping the delicate fabric with his hands, and forcing her legs to part for him by jamming his knee between her slender thighs.

Cold lumps of fear settled in her stomach, as she found herself losing the battle for control of her own body. His strong, grasping hands seemed to be everywhere, and no matter how she tried, she couldn't dislodge his much larger and heavier form from atop of her.

"Let me go!" she cried angrily, as she continued to twist and turn in her desperate attempts to get away.

Cold mocking laughter was her only response; then, when she felt the grating pain as he plunged between her legs and deeply into her unwilling body, his hands came to rest around her throat, pressing her down heavily against the pillow.

"You're mine, Minerva. What you have is mine. No one else will ever have it or you. I decide if you live or die. Me and me alone." His voice was ugly and gloating, it hurt her ears to hear it. Darkness was creeping up on her as he pumped his body viciously against hers and pressed down harder and harder on her throat, depriving her of the air she needed to respond…to fight…to survive.

"NO!" The scream that she finally succeeded in uttering, scraped her throat raw with its ferocity. Her body sprang upright in the empty bed with her heart pumping as fast as it was possible to go. Gasping deeply for breath, she stared around at the silent and darkened room and finally let herself sink back down onto the pillow in relief.

A dream. It was all a bloody dream. Yet another nightmare to torture her nights; a perfect twin to the agony her days had become. She couldn't escape this mental turmoil even for an hour or two of rest, apparently.

Wearily, she dragged her trembling body out of the tousled bed and stumbled over to the window to draw back the drapes. As she did, the room was immediately flooded by a bright sharp stab of lightning followed by an immense crash of thunder. Outside the castle, the very atmosphere echoed the turmoil that surged within her breast. She pressed her flushed face against the cool glass for a moment, and let the violent sounds of the storm without wash over the deep ache of the pain within.

How much more of this could she stand? She already felt as if the cold arms of imprisonment had her firmly within their grasp. She couldn't run, she couldn't hide, she couldn't eat or sleep. There was no refuge anymore. Not from anything. What was she to do?

Gradually, she got her ragged breathing under control and felt the rapid pulse of her heart begin to slow. As the lingering scraps of nightmare faded, she turned from the window and walked slowly into her sitting room. Another flash of lightning lit the room with a cold bluish glow, and she could see by the hands of her clock that it was a quarter to three in the morning. She'd slept for only an hour.

This lack of ability to get real sleep wasn't helping her at all. It made it so hard to think clearly. She probably needed a dreamless sleep potion to get any truly useful rest, but where was she to get it? Poppy? And be subjected to more speculative questioning and prodding for information? Severus? His angry face filled her vision once more as she recalled their last encounter. No, she couldn't ask Severus for anything…not ever again.

Another huge bang shook the air and harsh light outlined the contents of her room as rain began to drive itself against the windows like water propelled from a faucet. Without warning, she began to feel smothered…confined, as if fate had already locked the door and discarded the key. Staying here for another moment felt unbearable. She had to get out. She had to move…now. Grabbing up the tartan throw that she kept on the back of her sofa, she slid it around her shoulders and hugged it to her breast. Then she headed for the door to her room, opened it wide and, without a backward glance, fled out into the darkness of the cold corridors of stone beyond.

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As the distant sounds of violent weather echoed faintly in his ears, Severus Snape stalked through the empty halls of the slumbering castle and scowled angrily into the shadows. Sleep was a lost cause at the moment. He hadn't even bothered to try. Insomnia was an old companion at any rate. They'd been haunting each other's steps for many years. When sleep remained elusive for too long a stretch, he dosed himself with potions, but unfortunately, the aftereffects sometimes brought on a quick resumption of the symptoms that he'd been trying to quell in the first place. It became a vicious cycle and difficult to escape.

So, over time, he'd found that wearing himself out was still the best solution. It also had the added benefit of allowing him to further add some joy to the hearts of the students. He'd managed to take points and give detentions to students from all three rival houses this night. His capture rate had slowed down rather dramatically after midnight though. Reluctantly, he was coming to the conclusion that, other than the vermin who haunted these halls, despite the overabundance of cats in the castle, he was likely the last remaining living creature who roamed their lengths this night.

Once he'd returned the last errant students to their beds for the night, he'd taken up the habit of counting his steps. He'd reached a venerable number by this point and was thinking that he might have finally succeeded in tiring himself out enough to get one or two hours of rest, when he heard the unmistakable sound of movement far ahead of him near the end of the corridor.

His head snapped up, and he peered down into the darkness of the hallway just barely in time to see a flash of white, overhung with a drapery of green plaid, scurry around a corner and disappear from view. Apparently, he wasn't the last person roaming the halls, after all. Should he pursue? Whoever it was had quite a head start on him, and he was finally tired enough to get some real rest. Was it worth deducting a few more House points to continue to stalk through the night when he'd rather be in bed…actually sleeping?

A shiver ran through him when he suddenly realized where he was. This was the fourth time this night that his treacherous steps had led him past her door. With a black scowl, he turned and glanced at the chamber in question as he started past, and was brought up short by the fact that the door now stood ajar.

Unsure just what that could mean, he moved over to the open door and pushed against it to take a look inside. The room seemed empty. Could that have been Minerva that he'd glimpsed disappearing into the distance? Any thought of sleep disappeared with a fresh rush of curiosity. Swiftly, he ran through the sitting room to the bedroom and peered inside just in time to have a flash of lightning reveal a severely disarrayed bed with no current occupant. He crossed over to stand beside it and looked down at the rumpled sheets. Slowly, he bent and laid a hand against the pillow and then smoothed it down the length of the bed. It was cool to the touch. If it was her running off into the darkness, she'd been up for awhile.

Puzzled, he turned and reentered her sitting room. His sharp eyes noticed that the green tartan throw that always adorned the back of her couch was gone as well. It must have been her that he'd seen. What could drive her from her bed at this time of night with only a piece of material around her shoulders against the castle's chill? Her robe had lain in its accustomed place over a bedside chair; her slippers were on the floor beside it. The fact that she took the throw, instead of the robe, seemed to imply an uncharacteristic impulsiveness in her flight. How odd.

Could she be going to meet Standish? Possibly…but why rush out and leave her door open? And why not wear her robe? None of this seemed to make any sense. Yet her behavior hadn't made much sense to him ever since Ian Standish had shown up to throw everything into turmoil.

Suddenly determined to discover where Minerva had been going, he left the room, closing the door behind him and headed off down the hall, following in her footsteps.

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With light quick steps, Minerva moved swiftly down the hallways and up the staircases within the depths of the castle. There was no goal, no purpose to her flight, other than to move and keep moving as far and as fast as she could. Having lived in this castle for many, many years, she was familiar with most of its twists and turns, but because the castle itself sometimes rearranged its floor plan, there was always something new to discover.

As her bare feet began to feel very cold against the hard iciness of the slick stone floor, she found herself regretting the lack of her warm slippers. So she solved that problem by shrinking down within herself and becoming the Tabby. Assuming her other form also had the benefit of allowing her to leave so many of her worries behind her. The Tabby's simpler thought processes held the obvious, if temporary, solution to her troubles…run…run and hide where no one could harm her. So she simply kept moving, skirting the edge of one flickering pool of torchlight after another.

Instinctively, she wended her way deeper into the unused parts of the massive structure she called home. Her fine, sharp claws clicked in a soft rhythm against the stone floor as she moved her small, furry body swiftly forward. Gradually, she lost her human concerns in the instinctive reactions of the hunting cat, and let herself think of nothing except the stray scents that touched her delicate nose as she moved along as silently as she could. She slowed her steps, tensed the muscles of her body, and listened for the faint sounds of possible prey. When nothing seemed to be stirring anywhere within reach, she continued on.

Eventually, she tired of her fruitless hunting. From the myriad of scents she discerned, she had a feeling that other cats had already pounced on all the interesting possibilities to be found in this part of the castle tonight. So when she rounded a corner and came upon a red velvet covered window seat in a secluded alcove that beckoned to her with its comforting cushions, she crossed the corridor eagerly and leaped up to settle herself for a rest. Curling up into a furry ball, she stared out through the wavy, ancient glass at the storm tossed night outside.

As she watched nature's fierceness spend itself against the stout walls of the castle, she tried desperately to keep all thought and feeling at bay. Eventually, her eyelids began to feel a bit heavy, and she knew that she should probably retreat once more to the solitude of her rooms. With any luck at all, she'd finally be tired enough to actually sleep...for awhile at least.

The damp cold of the stones that she leaned against was creeping into her small body even through her thick fur and making her a bit uncomfortable, but her mind had quieted, and the feeling of panic that had sent her off on her flight through the castle had subsided. Finally, she began to feel that she'd managed to escape her fears for a short time. As a sudden jagged bolt of lightning flashed against the glass, she got to her feet, stretched her body in a fluid motion and turned away from the window to head back to the dubious safety of her rooms.

As she did, she happened to glance through an open door across the corridor and saw a faint flash of movement within the shadowed room. Curious, she transformed herself back into her human form, crossed the hallway and peered inside, regretting it almost immediately. Inside the room, leaning at a slight angle against the far wall, was an instrument of evil that she'd hoped that she'd seen the last of forever.

So this was where Albus had put it? He never would be specific when she'd asked. Another jagged shard of light reflected back at her as she gazed across the empty space at the dark imposing shape of The Mirror of Erised. A cold pang of dismay coursed through her. Nothing good ever came from that thing in her experience…only pain.

She'd gazed into its depths four times in her life, and each time it had shown her the same unattainable image. The first time she'd seen it, she didn't understand what it was, what it did. What it meant. She could still remember how happy it had made her to see what she thought might be a glimpse of her future. When she'd really come to understand that all the horrid thing truly did was mirror her desire, instead of her reality, she'd come to hate it. The last thing she needed were more reminders of what she'd wanted so badly but could never have.

With a shake of her head, she tried to turn away, but something within her wouldn't let her leave. Her treacherous thoughts whispered that this time it might be different. It had been many years since she'd last looked into its depths and maybe what she saw this time could somehow help her with her current dilemma. Since it displayed the deeply hidden desires of her heart, it might help her decide what she needed to do.

Hesitantly, she turned back and began to slowly walk across the room. Every time she'd looked into that cursed piece of glass, it had shown her cradling the child that her body could never produce. Yes, she was older now, and she'd accepted that that would never be her reality. That particular longing, as strong as it once had been, was likely a thing of the past; but whatever that mirror showed her now, it wasn't likely to be anything that would help her any more. Why was she doing this? It was sheer foolishness.

Yet still she continued to move forward until she stood directly in front of the glass and gazed within. Her breath caught in her throat as she simply stood there and stared into the hateful thing. The image had changed, but what she saw now was just as impossible for her to attain, and she'd been right to doubt. Seeing this image wasn't going to help her, any more than the other would have. Here was simply another glimpse of the unattainable…not helpful to her in the slightest.

Hot stinging tears sprang to her eyes as she leaned closer and touched a trembling hand to the surface of the glass. As they spilled over and ran unnoticed down her cheeks, she watched herself in another world being held and kissed lovingly by a familiar figure in black. A new gulf of sorrow opened up within her as she watched their passion-filled embrace. How had this happened? How had she ever let it happen? Yet as she watched she knew that as improbable as it seemed, it was indeed a true image. Somehow, without even realizing it, she'd foolishly allowed herself to actually fall in love with Severus Snape.

The sad truth was that she had somehow come to love this arrogant, angry man who was younger than any child she'd lost, wanted him more than she'd ever wanted any other man she'd ever known. She'd been denying it to herself for some time now, she belatedly realized, but faced with this proof, she could deny it no longer. She did love him, and what a mistake that was. All the years between them were such an impossible divide to cross. Not to mention the suspicions and distrust of her that he seemed to hold so dear at the moment. Love was one thing that would never be between them. Like all men, Severus only wanted to control her, nothing more.

Determinedly, she wiped the tears from her face and stepped back. The difference in their ages, the circumstances of their lives, their disparate personalities, even the Houses they so proudly represented, these things would always keep them apart. Even if by some miracle, Severus did actually care about her, what it now appeared that she was guilty of, the fate she probably faced, would finish off any chance that they'd ever have of being together.

Oh, why had she found this here now? Did she really need to know that here was one more thing she stood to lose forever if she didn't give in to Ian's demands? With a shake of her head, she turned away and walked out of the room. No. That was the wrong way to look at it. She couldn't lose what she never had. No matter what else she might lose, Severus would not be part of it. If there had ever been any chance of them being together, that chance was already lost, and there didn't seem to be any way to get it back.

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Snape stomped down yet another empty corridor and snarled into the dimness. Where the hell was she? And why was he wasting his time wandering all over this castle looking for her anyway? It was obviously a futile exercise. For all he knew she'd turned herself into a cat and was off merrily chasing mice with the other flea-bitten furballs that infested the castle with their presence. What difference should it make to him anyway? None. Simply satisfying his curiosity just wasn't worth the aggravation.

Determined that he wasn't going to waste another moment searching for her, he whirled around and began to retrace his steps back into the more frequently trod parts of the castle. With a dark scowl, he admitted that the most likely place to find her anyway was probably in Ian Standish's bed. Despite the fact that she'd headed off into the unused part of the castle, odds were still outstanding that she ended up in the Governor's arms. That was where she was spending most of her evenings and free time anyway, wasn't it?

Doubt flickered dimly and was firmly squelched. Irma Pince didn't know what the hell she was talking about. He knew what he saw. Standish had been skittish as a newborn unicorn until a couple of days ago, then, suddenly, he'd begun strutting around the castle as if he owned it. Every chance that man got, he had his hands on Minerva. He'd found them kissing in the corridor like a couple of seventh years, for god's sake! In any mathematical text that he'd ever seen, one plus one equaled two.

He clenched his hands reflexively and kept on walking. It was long past time to wash his hands of Minerva McGonagall. If the woman wished to throw her life away on an idiot like Standish, so be it. It's not as if he truly cared. If he didn't have his own concerns to worry about, he'd have ceased thinking about her long before this. It was definitely time to speak to Albus about the situation. If she was going to be involving herself with Standish, then his interests needed to be protected, and protect them he would, if he had to obliviate all knowledge of his spying from her mind himself!

No doubt Albus would balk at such a drastic solution, though if he was forced to it, he could simply do it and not mention it to anyone. Minerva could hardly complain about what she didn't recall. He frowned. No. Sooner or later, such tampering would likely be discovered, and the resulting uproar would be more trouble than it was worth; he had no doubt of that.

No one would see it as the act of self-defense it was. Instead, they'd all be whining that he'd overstepped his bounds. That he'd violated her rights. No thought would be spared for his rights. Oh, no. He shook his head in disgust. Perhaps Albus could force her to limit her involvement somehow, though…to behave more cautiously. Hopefully the stubborn woman would listen to the Headmaster because it was obvious that she wasn't listening to him.

Swiftly, he rounded a corner and headed down the corridor that led to Minerva's rooms. He'd had it in the back of his mind to check and see if she'd returned, but frankly, why should he bother? Still, he was brought up short to see the woman he'd been pursuing for over an hour round the opposing corner and head towards her door. She was moving almost as if she was in pain. Her head was bowed and her bare feet moved slowly as she clutched her tartan shawl tightly around her slightly hunched shoulders.

The Potions master hesitated and then came to a stop. Standing quietly a few feet away from her door, he just watched her move towards him. When she finally reached her room, she raised her head and, with a sudden start, met his eyes with hers. He could see the tracks of tears on her pale cheeks in the firelight from a nearby torch, but she didn't look injured in any way.

The two of them simply stood and stared at each other silently, much as they had a day earlier outside the Great Hall. Neither dared to close the gap between them…nor truly knew how. Finally, Minerva simply opened her door and went inside, closing it softly behind her, and with a troubled frown, Snape passed on and turned his footsteps down towards the dungeons where he belonged.

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Next Chapter: Severus gets an eyeful, and Minerva makes a decision.


	21. Recognizing the Truth

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty One: Recognizing the Truth**

As she closed her office door behind her and started off down the corridor toward her rooms to prepare for dinner, Minerva suddenly heard heavy footsteps following her own. Reluctantly, she turned her head to discover a determined looking Ian Standish only a few paces behind her. Though her natural inclination was to speed up to get away from him, she instead forced herself to slow down and allowed him to catch up.

"Good evening, Minerva," he sneered. "I haven't seen very much of you over the past two days."

Her tone was cold as she answered the reproach she heard in his voice. "Does that really surprise you? It shouldn't. We really don't have much to talk about anymore."

"On the contrary, I think we have quite a lot that needs to be resolved. I grow tired of waiting for your answer. You aren't stalling me now, are you?" His voice was full of warning. "Surely it can't be taking you this long to decide what to do? After all, there's really only one choice worth making here."

"For you, that's no doubt true, Ian. Your only consideration would be to save your own skin, but the equation doesn't seem quite that simple to me. You gave me until tomorrow to decide what to do, and that's when you'll receive your answer…not before. You'll simply have to learn to be patient." Dismissing him coldly, she turned away.

Before she could actually move away from him though, Standish abruptly slid an arm around her neck and pressed the tip of his wand under her chin as he pulled her off of the main corridor and down into a much narrower side corridor nearby.

His voice growled low and ugly in her ear. "You don't seem to have realized who has the upper hand here, Minerva. So I guess that I'll have to explain the situation to you again. If you don't agree to my demands, your comfortable life here will be a thing of the past. Your days of educating young minds will be over. There'll be no more comfortable bed to sleep in, no more nice warm clothes to wear, no more gourmet meals cooked by obliging house-elves who cater to your every request. Oh, no. Instead, you'll spend the rest of your life in a cold, damp cell wearing rags and eating swill. That is unless they decide to simply hang you instead and be done with you. Is that truly what you want?"

As the wand jabbed deeper into the delicate skin beneath her chin, the arm about her neck loosened, and its hand began to roam possessively down over the front of her body.

"Surely retaining this life that you've built for yourself is worth giving up some land that you have no real use for and spending the occasional night in my bed. I can make it very pleasant for you, you know…" His voice had acquired a husky tone heavily laden with lust, and she felt moist lips graze the nape of her neck.

Minerva closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. He made it sound so simple, as if there weren't any larger issues involved here at all. Was that truly how Ian saw the world? If something was personally advantageous to him, then it was the right choice and to hell with the larger picture? Apparently so, not that she should be surprised by that.

As Ian's hand began to slide down over her abdomen, she abruptly tried to move forward out of his grasp hoping to escape him, but he reacted more quickly than she expected. His wand slipped across her neck, and he raised his free hand to grasp its tip and pulled back hard, crushing her windpipe against the stiff wooden rod.

Her hands flew up to try to pull it off, but the strong pressure against her throat stole her breath away, and the next thing she knew, she was down on her hands and knees on the hard stone floor of the corridor gasping for air while red spots blinked dizzily before her eyes.

Ian crouched down next to her and shook his head mournfully. "You can't escape. Why do you keep trying? I've never met a more foolishly stubborn woman than you, Minerva. For some unfathomable reason, you've always let your arrogant pride override your good sense. Now, do I get an answer? And for your sake, I hope it's the right one."

Still gasping for a deeper breath, Minerva sat down heavily on the floor and glared up at her assailant with hate filled eyes.

"You'll get your answer tomorrow, Ian. Not before," she spat defiantly, rubbing her abused throat with a shaking hand.

With an ugly expression on his broad face, Ian stood, reached down and seized the front of her robes with his hand, and dragged her up onto her knees, ripping the soft material of her bodice in the process. Then he drew back his other arm to deliver a blow, but before he could follow through, a low intense voice stopped him.

"What the hell is going on here?"

Frozen in place by this unexpected interruption, two faces turned towards the penetrating voice to see Severus Snape standing at the junction with the main corridor glowering darkly at the disturbing tableau spread in front of him. Without missing a beat, the beefy wizard lowered his threatening hand and used it instead to reach down and pull Minerva rather roughly to her feet. Then he directed a smirking smile at the man he believed to be his ally, without releasing Minerva from his grasp.

"Professor McGonagall caught the heel of her shoe in the hem of her robe and fell, I'm afraid. I was simply helping her up. Isn't that true, Minerva?" His fingers dug painfully into the muscles of her arm prompting the answer he wished.

"Yes," she said shortly. "I fell."

Ian smiled more broadly. "I'm sure that you'll be all right now, my dear. You really need to be more careful, you know."

"Yes, I intend to be." Her voice remained inflectionless.

"Excellent," Ian boomed heartily. "We'll talk tomorrow then."

"Yes, tomorrow…as I told you in the first place." This time her soft voice held more of its previous determination, and she nodded her head decisively, flashing cold eyes his way.

"As you wish. Enjoy your free evening then." His warning tone reminded her that it could be one of her last if she didn't see things his way, then he bowed mockingly, turned and gave a short bow to Snape as well. "Good evening to you too, Professor Snape."

Snape narrowed his eyes and inclined his head slightly in response to the seemingly self-assured man. "Good evening, Mr. Standish."

With a final, slightly threatening, glance at Minerva, Ian swaggered off back down the main corridor, leaving Snape and McGonagall standing alone amongst the shadows. Once Standish's footsteps had faded away, Snape stepped closer to the disheveled woman, noting as he did so the torn material of her bodice and the vivid red and purple mark that was forming against the pale skin of her throat. A questioning frown formed on his face as he asked, "Are you all right? What really happened here? Obviously, that fool wasn't simply helping you up. It looked as if he was about to attack you."

Minerva felt a slightly ironic and incredulous laugh bubbling up inside of her, though she suppressed it as well as she could. Was that actually concern and uncertainty that she was finally hearing in his voice? She shook her head and tried to keep her voice level and soft. "Did it? I told you I fell, Severus. You mean you don't believe me? How unexpected." A tinge of sarcasm crept into her tone though she really did try to keep it out. Quite suddenly, all the frustration that she'd been feeling toward him began to seep out through the cracks in her façade, and she wasn't sure that she could hold herself together for too much longer if she remained in his presence.

With a weary sigh, she passed a slightly trembling hand across her eyes before continuing, "Perhaps you'd prefer to believe that we had some sort of lover's quarrel that got out of hand? Is that more to your liking? You've been so determined to draw your own conclusions lately. Nothing I've said has seemed to matter in the slightest. Why should now be any different?"

Abruptly, she dropped her eyes away from his and turned to leave. All she wanted was to escape from everyone and be alone for awhile. Arguing further with Severus wasn't going to help her with anything. It was just going to hurt more. She took a step away from the Potions master only to feel her arm seized in an insistent grip and her body forced to turn back towards him.

Her eyes flashed with deep anger as she turned back to look at him, but her voice remained low pitched and icy in tone. "Please, release my arm, Severus. I am through putting up with men who feel that they have the right to grab hold of me anytime they wish."

Taking heed of the cold warning in her voice, Snape dropped his hand away without protest.

"Obviously, there's far more going on than I've realized," he said quietly. His fingers drifted upward towards the angry mark on her throat, then dropped away again without touching. "What did Standish do to you? What does he really want from you?"

Minerva stood still for a moment and stared deeply into Snape's eyes. Were there finally real questions there? Doubts? Could she possibly tell him the truth and be believed? Hope flared upward for a moment, then plunged back beneath the churning surface of her mind. No. How could she tell anyone? If she couldn't believe it herself, how could she expect anyone else to believe it? Especially someone as suspicious and judgmental as Severus was. How could she bear it if she told him what Ian was really up to, and he still didn't believe her? Best to leave things as they were.

"You want the truth, Severus?" she asked. "Very well, I'll give you the truth. Ian Standish is a nasty, cruel, controlling man. I despise him, and I always will. Anything that's occurred between us since he's been here has been forced on me over my very great objections. The only reason that I've tolerated his company at all is because Albus asked me to in order to try to discover Ian's purpose for being here. Your secrets have never been in the slightest danger of being revealed by me. I would never betray you, and the fact that you so easily believe that I would…hurts. So you can just stop glowering at me every time our paths cross. I've had more than my fill of it."

They stared at each other for a long silent moment, then Snape opened his mouth to speak, but Minerva beat him to it. "Good night, Severus. Don't expect me for dinner. I've lost my appetite."

Without another word, she whirled away from him and headed swiftly off down the corridor, turning the corner and leaving his sight, though the sharp click of her heels filled his ears for some time, as he stood there uncertain and troubled in the dim and shadowy hall.

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A decision had to be made. This uncertainty couldn't go on any longer. It was tearing her to pieces inside and out. Minerva's fingers nervously toyed with the torn material of her robe, and she straightened up on her couch and stared resolutely into the fire in front of her.

Ian was right. She was stalling because a part of her didn't want to admit that she was going to have to do this, but that sort of behavior was unworthy of her, and it was past time that she put an end to it.

Resolutely, she got up and crossed the room to her desk. There, she sat down and took up a quill and a piece of parchment. She'd weighed all the pros and cons a million times, but she'd never simply laid them all out for herself before, and it was past time that she did. So for the next few minutes all that could be heard was the scratching of the quill against the stiff parchment and the bits of wood that broke off and fell hissing sharply into the crackling fire.

Once she'd written out every consequence she could think of, she sat back and read them over to herself. If she gave in to Ian, she'd lose her estate, but she'd get to keep her job and her life; she wouldn't have to go to prison. Her life would never be her own again, though. Ian would forever have this to hang over her head, and she'd have to let him touch her once again. He would win, and he'd never let her forget it. And worst of all, her estate, her family's legacy, would go to support the greatest monster the wizarding world has ever seen.

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. If she didn't give in to Ian, she'd almost certainly go to prison or be executed for murder. The life that she'd loved so much and worked so hard for would be gone forever. She'd lose her job. She'd lose her friends. She'd lose their respect and their good opinion. Most likely she'd never see any of them…Albus, Irma, Poppy, Filius…or Severus…ever again.

On the other hand, Ian would have to fight much harder to get his hands on her property. She had a legal will after all, and it wouldn't be invalidated if she were condemned unless the Ministry decided to invoke the old law that gave them the right to seize the property of condemned prisoners. It wasn't a law that was used much anymore, but if it was still valid, certainly that was a possibility. However, if the Ministry did decide to invoke that law, they wouldn't be too quick to give up a windfall like that to someone without a blood claim.

So no matter what he said, there was a very good chance that he'd fail in his attempt to grab her estate, and if he failed, then he couldn't use the profits from it to support Voldemort and his evil. In fact, he'd probably be severely punished for failing to deliver what he'd promised. That alone might be worth defying him. A sad and bitter smile crossed her lips briefly at the realization that she could feel so spiteful, but she didn't deny that truth to herself.

What was the right answer anyway? If she was guilty of this crime, then she should be punished for it, shouldn't she? Though it seemed impossible to believe, all the evidence did point to her being guilty, and if she was, then she'd evaded punishment for fifty years all ready. Wasn't that enough of a grace period? It was much more than most murderers received.

Minerva scanned the list and sighed. With an abrupt gesture, she crushed the piece of parchment between her palms and tossed the resulting ball of trash into the bin next to her desk.

In the end, there was only one answer, and she'd known that all along. It was just…difficult…to face, but face it she must. Her estate could not be allowed to go to support Voldemort and his evil, not if there was any possible way to prevent it. Ian and his master could not be allowed to win. If she had to go to prison to stop them, then so be it. Her family's legacy should never be perverted to support the type of evil that she'd spent her life fighting against. What happened to her was irrelevant in comparison. She was just one old lady. She'd lived a good life. If it had to end now, then it did.

Perhaps she deserved this horrid fate anyway. All the evidence seemed to show that she was a murderess. Even though she couldn't remember doing it, apparently she'd taken the life of a man who had done nothing she was aware of to deserve death, and she'd gotten away with the crime for far too long. If these facts were correct, then imprisonment or worse was what she deserved, and she should simply own up to it and take her punishment. Trying to evade it any longer wasn't worthy of a Gryffindor.

A cold smile flashed across her lips as she contemplated facing Ian and telling him no. There was no doubt that she'd get immense satisfaction from that. He'd never understand her making this decision. It was one that he was simply incapable of making himself, but it was the right one, and getting to defy him in the process was just extra icing on the cake.

Her expression sobered once more though at the thought of what she'd tell everyone else. They'd never understand. How could she face Irma, and Albus, and Severus, and tell them that she'd probably killed a man many years ago, and now she was going to have to be sent to jail to atone for the crime. How could she do it?

Sadly, she shook her head. She couldn't. It would be best for all of them if they didn't have to know anything about it until it was all over. None of them deserved to get dragged into her mess. There was only one way for that to happen, though. She'd have to leave. If she wasn't at Hogwarts anymore by the time she was arrested, then she couldn't drag the reputation of the school down with her. She had to resign. It was the only answer. The last thing she wanted was to be responsible for yet more trauma being heaped on the school and its innocent occupants. They'd all been through enough over the last year or two. They didn't need another scandal for the press to revel in.

Slowly, she turned in her chair and took up a fresh piece of parchment. Carefully, she spread it out on the desktop before her and dipped her quill once more into the inkwell. After a pause to try to gather her thoughts, she bent her dark head and began to write one of the most difficult letters that she'd ever had to write in her life, her letter of resignation.

Once it was done, she set the quill aside and got to her feet. Despite the low temperature outside, she opened the French doors that led to her balcony, and stepped out into the dark night beyond. The brisk, cold wind slapped her full in the face and brought stinging tears to her eyes. Impatiently, she wiped the moisture from her cheek and let her gaze travel up over the familiar façade of the castle, noting the myriad of warm, lighted windows amidst the strong, aged stones. With a gentle, caressing touch, she pressed a hand to the ivy-covered wall. This place had been her home for most of her life; it contained all the "family" she had left. She'd never felt as if she truly belonged anywhere else. Not even within the house for which she was giving all this up. It was going to be so difficult to say goodbye.

With moist eyes, she walked across the small balcony to stare down over the edge of the parapet into the darkness below. It was a long way down. Perhaps she could save everyone some trouble if she simply threw herself over the railing into oblivion. It would all be over quickly that way. She let herself look longingly into the darkness for a moment and be tempted before straightening up with a sigh.

No. That was the coward's way out, and no matter what else it might be proved that she was, she wasn't a coward. She'd face whatever life demanded of her, and she wouldn't complain about it. And she certainly wouldn't end her life in such a way that some other poor innocent would have to deal with the finding of her body. What if it was a student who found her? She shook her head firmly. No. That would never do.

She turned away from the icy darkness and returned to the warmth of the room behind her and shut the doors firmly. Her eyes gazed slowly around her room noting all her possessions, things that had come to have meaning to her over the years that she'd lived here. She had this night to say good-bye. This night to come to terms with leaving, because tomorrow would most likely be the last day that she spent here at Hogwarts.

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Next Chapter: Minerva begins the process of leaving Hogwarts.


	22. Casting The Die

**Disclaimer:** None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Two: Casting the Die**

As she extended her hand to knock on the door in front of her, Minerva noticed its trembling and drew it back, tightening her fist as she did so. This wasn't going to work if she couldn't keep her emotions intact and under her control. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and let it out very slowly. When she felt more like herself again, she knocked briskly before she could change her mind.

After a brief pause, the door opened and Irma Pince smiled happily into her eyes. "Hello, Minerva. This is a surprise. I was just getting ready to go down to lunch. Come in."

The librarian stepped back and ushered her friend into her rooms.

Minerva smiled and held out a package and a book to Pince as she turned back after closing the door. "I wanted to bring these to you before lunch, and this way I thought we could walk down together. We haven't seen that much of each other these last few days, and I know that's mostly because I've been so preoccupied, but I…well, I just wanted to spend a few moments with you now and tell you that I'm sorry for being so distant. Can you forgive me?"

A frown of concern creased Irma's forehead as she absently took the proffered items and looked at her friend carefully. Minerva looked more tired than ever. The deep circles that had marred her face for so long now seeming to have permanently etched themselves under her eyes with dark and indelible ink.

"Oh, there's nothing to forgive. I know that you've had a lot on your mind. I just wish that I'd been able to help you with whatever has been troubling you so much."

Minerva impulsively reached out and drew the startled librarian into her arms, hugged her tightly for a brief moment and then stepped back quickly. "You have helped me, Irma. You've cared about me and what I've been going through, and that's been of much more help to me than you could ever imagine."

"I'm glad," the slightly confused witch murmured. Then, to cover her embarrassment at her friend's uncharacteristic burst of affection, she dropped her eyes to the book and the parcel she held in her hand. The book was the library book on memory that she'd given to Minerva only a few days before, and the package was a medium sized box wrapped in colorful Christmas paper.

Further confused, Irma looked up again. "Did you find the book helpful, Minerva?" she asked softly.

Minerva sighed and shook her head. "No. Not really. It didn't seem to address the question I wanted to know about. I'll have to keep looking, I guess. Thank you for taking the time to find it for me though."

"You're welcome. I'm sorry to hear that it wasn't of use to you. I searched the collection thoroughly. I'm afraid that this is the only book that we have that touches on the subject of pensieves and memory. I'll need to acquiring some better resources, I guess."

"That's all right. It may not matter soon anyway," said Minerva quietly.

Those somber words caused a chill to go down Irma's spine and an awkward silence filled the air between them as the librarian tried to figure out just how to respond. Finally, Irma turned and set the book down on a nearby table. Then she held up the wrapped package with a hesitant smile. "Christmas is still a few weeks away. Why are you delivering presents so early?"

"I'm afraid that I'll have to be going away before Christmas, and since I wasn't certain when I'll be back, I wanted to be sure that I gave you my present before I left. You can just put it away for now, and pull it out at the right time. If you can stand the suspense, that is. Were you one of those children who always had to shake all the packages ahead of time to determine what was in them or could you wait patiently until the proper time came to open them?" Minerva's eyes gleamed with suppressed emotion and forced amusement.

Irma was slightly taken aback. "Uh…I was always pretty good at waiting, actually. What do you mean you're going away? Going away where? Why?"

Minerva looked down at the tips of her shoes and sighed. "It's too long and complicated a story to get into now. You'll find out the truth soon enough, I'm sure, and when you do, I hope you won't think too ill of me. I…hope that though I do have to leave, I won't be gone for long, but there is the possibility that I might not be able to return. So since I already had your gift, I just wanted to be sure that you received it."

"Minerva!" exclaimed Irma in horror. "What do you mean, you might not be able to return? And I'd never think ill of you, no matter what. You're my very dearest friend, but even you can't just drop a bombshell on me like that and not explain it."

The eyes that reluctantly rose to meet the shocked ones of Irma Pince were shadowed and sadder than any that the librarian had seen in a very long time.

"Please," Minerva beseeched her friend in a rather halting voice. "Don't ask me to explain. I just can't. I wouldn't leave if I didn't have to, but I do. Just keep the present until Christmas, and when you open it…think of me fondly. I…I'll probably be back by then anyway," she finished awkwardly. If only that were true.

Irma didn't know what to say. She wanted to continue to question her friend, but she could tell that Minerva wasn't comfortable with the way the conversation was going. The last thing Irma wanted to do was to make Minerva more uncomfortable and unhappy than she already was, so as hard as it was to do, she decided to simply go along with what was asked of her.

"All right, Minerva. I won't question you anymore, and I'll put the gift away until Christmas. I don't have your gift yet, though, so you'll have to let me know where I can send it if you aren't back by then."

A chill flitted through Minerva at the thought of where she'd probably be living by Christmas, but she forced a smile onto her face. "Of course, if necessary, I'll be sure to do that."

Irma smiled sadly. "I'll miss you, if you leave. Hogwarts won't be the same without you, you know."

"Oh, Irma, I'll miss you, too." Minerva threw her arms around her friend once more, and this time she was embraced a bit more fiercely than before.

When they broke apart, Minerva smiled brightly. "Hopefully, I won't be gone for long anyway, and all this sentimentality will be totally unnecessary."

Irma nodded, still confused and now worried on top of it.

"Well, shall we go down to lunch?" asked Minerva in her usual brisk tone of voice. "I'm quite hungry myself."

"Yes, certainly. I'm rather hungry, too. Just let me set this in the bedroom, and I'll be right back." Irma turned and went off into her bedroom for a moment and then returned again without the package. "Okay, off to lunch then?"

Minerva nodded and opened the door, and the two of them set off for the Great Hall together, each thinking their own gloomy thoughts and trying to not worry the other with them.

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Ian had looked quite triumphant at lunch when she'd told him that she'd made her decision and that she'd be visiting his chambers in the early afternoon with her answer. As Minerva walked resolutely toward the guest quarters at the back of the castle, a grim smile settled easily onto her face. He was going to be in for a bit of a surprise apparently. What a shame, but not even the great Ian Kyle Standish got everything that he wanted.

When she faced his door, she slid her right hand into her pocket and grasped the hilt of her wand in a firm grip. Ian wasn't going to get the drop on her again. He'd abused her for the last time. This time, she'd be ready if he didn't behave himself. With a quick and resolute sigh, she raised her left hand and knocked firmly on the door.

The wait was only a moment. Then the door opened quickly and Ian inclined his head to her with a broad and satisfied smile spread out across his face. He looked unbearably smug, and suddenly she found herself eagerly anticipating bursting his confident bubble. "Ah, Minerva. I've been waiting for you. Please, do come in."

Accepting his invitation to enter, she moved easily across the carpeted floor and waited quietly for him to close the door behind her. Her eyes skimmed the room, noting the pair of crystal flutes that stood next to an icy bottle of champagne on the credenza. Without surprise, she also noted that the door to the suite's bedroom was open wide and that the covers on the bed beyond were turned down despite the early hour of the day. Clearly, Ian was planning on her presence in his bed this afternoon, no doubt to seal their bargain. My, my, wasn't he eager? Too bad. He didn't hold the winning hand this time, no matter how much he thought he did.

Ian came up behind Minerva on soft feet and ran a caressing hand down the side of her face. "I'm so glad you've finally come, Minerva. I've been looking forward to this moment ever since I arrived here at Hogwarts." His voice was husky with desire, and he dropped his lips to the nape of her neck and kissed her gently.

"Have you?" she whispered softly. "Somehow I doubt that, Ian." With a few quick steps, Minerva moved away from Ian's touch and turned around to face him once more.

A faint frown flitted across his face. "What do you mean? You have come to accept my offer to protect you from prosecution for your crime, haven't you?"

"That's such an interesting way to phrase it, Ian, when what you're really asking is have I decided to accept your blackmailing of me."

The frown deepened at the cold firmness of her tone. "However you insist on phrasing it, you are here to accept my proposal, aren't you?"

With a faintly pitying expression on her face, Minerva shook her head firmly. "No, Ian. I'm not. I refuse to give in to blackmail, and I refuse to give you control over my family's estate. You lose, I'm afraid."

Shock was written large on his features as he stared at her for a moment in absolute speechlessness before finding his voice once more.

"No, you lose if you do that! You can't be serious. Do I have to spell out what refusing me means once more? You'll spend the rest of your life in Azkaban, Minerva. Even without the dementors, you won't last a month in there. Think before you throw your life away!"

"I have thought about it. Long and hard. If I really did murder that man all those years ago, then I need to be punished for it, Ian. I'm not going to try to evade that. But whether I did or not, I cannot and will not allow myself to be blackmailed by the likes of you. I promised myself that I'd never let you touch me again, and I never will."

Fury rippled through Standish, and he took a menacing step forward and reached for Minerva, but before he could touch her, she pulled out her wand and pointed it directly between his eyes.

"Touch me, and you'll be spending the rest of your life as a toad, Ian…a very appropriate fate if you ask me," Minerva stated calmly. Her eyes glittered and a substantial part of her almost hoped that he'd be foolish enough to disregard her warning.

Standish came to an abrupt halt a couple of feet away from her, a peculiar mixture of rage and confusion apparent in every line of his face and every taut angle of his body. He shook his head once more, as if he simply didn't understand the very language that she spoke.

"You can't mean it. You can't! You'll die, damn it! Don't you realize that? Is being touched by me really such a horrible fate that you'd rather die than submit to it? You can't mean this, Minerva?"

"Oh, but I do," she said quite calmly. "There were so many times during our marriage that I wanted to die, Ian. So many indignities…so much pain. When you'd hit me or berate me because I'd displeased you, because I'd had another miscarriage, or simply because you enjoyed it… When you'd put your hands around my neck during sex and press down, not caring in the slightest if you killed me as long as you got your pleasure out of it, I hated you.

"In fact, almost every moment that I spent in your house and in your bed was a moment I hated. A cold, barren prison cell would be paradise compared to spending even one more moment under your control. When you and I divorced, I vowed then and there that no man would ever have that sort of control over me again. I will not go back into bondage to you, Ian. I will not. So turn in your evidence. Send me to prison. You won't ever control me again. I will remain free of you if I have to die to do it."

"That's what it'll likely come down to, you know. I was speaking just recently to some of my old friends on the Wizengemot. They're all afraid that with the dementors gone from Azkaban, that there won't be enough of a deterrent to stop people from committing truly horrible crimes, like murder. I believe I told you that they're considering reinstituting the death penalty. Well, when they asked my opinion on the matter, I told them that I thought it was an excellent plan. In fact, I believe they're working all the details out as we speak. The new statutes will be out very soon. You might have a fairly short stay in Azkaban, after all. If the cold and deprivation doesn't kill you, then an executioner might."

A shiver ran through her and her wand wavered slightly in her hand. Ian saw it and smiled.

"It's easier to face a prison cell than a death sentence isn't it, Minerva?" Ian mocked her softly, his eyes hard.

His taunting voice seemed to infuse her with more resolve. Her head raised a notch and her arm stiffened once more, the tip of her wand still firmly aimed at her enemy.

"Yes, it is, but it doesn't change anything. I've made up my mind. I will not submit to you and your blackmail, Ian. I don't know why you want this so much, but there's obviously a reason beyond simple greed, and that cannot be good. Everything I know, everything I am, tells me not to give in to you. So I won't. It's that simple."

Panic flitted through his eyes, convincing her even more firmly that she'd made the right choice. That was real fear she saw reflected there. There was no longer any doubt in her mind. Ian had promised what he didn't have to someone who wouldn't look kindly on being denied, and it didn't take very much effort to figure out who that someone was.

"Think about this then, Minerva. I have the power to help or greatly hurt your precious Dumbledore with my report to the Board of Governors. I can turn in such a favorable report that he'll have nothing to worry about for years to come, and I will if you yield to me. Continue with your defiance, though, and I'll make sure that half of the staff is fired for incompetence. I'll make Dumbledore look like a doddering old fool whom the Board will have no choice but to replace. What do you think about that, huh?" He planted his hands on his hips and glared at her.

Uncertainty flashed through her for a moment. This was one threat that she hadn't anticipated, but could she afford to consider it now? It didn't change anything really. Voldemort simply couldn't be allowed to get his hands on the vast amount of money that the McGonagall estate was worth. No member of the staff here at Hogwarts would be willing to keep their jobs if they knew that that was the cost.

Besides, no matter how bad Ian tried to make them look, it wouldn't be very hard to prove him a liar to any legitimate follow up inspection that would come. Albus was too smart and too powerful to allow someone like Ian to bad mouth him to the Board and get away with it. No matter his reputation, he was still the newest member of the group, and he didn't stack up against Albus Dumbledore, either in wits, reputation, or manipulative abilities.

"When the truth comes out, Ian, and you know it will, you'll only end up looking foolish and incompetent yourself. You can shade things to make them show against us, but you cannot represent the staff of this school as incompetent and expect anyone with half a brain to believe you, because it's much too far from the truth. Albus can take care of himself and Hogwarts. That argument won't work with me. In fact, no argument is going to work. You lose, Ian. That's all there is to it."

Impotent rage was beginning to raise sweat on Ian's forehead, and a large vein was pulsing rather obviously under the now flushed skin of his temple.

Minerva began to move towards the door, never lowering her wand or changing its aim.

"I'm going to be leaving now. I suggest that you do the same. Scurry back into whatever hole you crawled out of to come here and face whatever consequences there'll be for failing to get what you wanted. I never want to see your face again."

"I'm sure that you don't," Ian spat through stiff lips. "You won't get your way in that though. I'll be seeing you again…at your trial. Then I'll be the one who has the upper hand. Once you're incarcerated, I'll petition for your estate, and I'll get it. I have friends in high places, and they'll be glad to help me. All this will avail you nothing in the end. You'll regret this, Minerva. You just see if you don't."

Her slightly clammy fingers fumbled briefly with the doorknob before succeeding in opening it behind her back. "Perhaps I will, but my decision is final, nevertheless. Goodbye, Ian." Her voice remained firm, her countenance stony, until she slipped through the door and slammed it shut behind her.

Then, leaning weakly against the closed door, she shivered as she heard the intense crash and inarticulate burst of rage that echoed through the room behind her. Closing her eyes for a moment, she pressed a now trembling hand to her breast and tried to quiet her racing heartbeat. For better or worse, the die was cast. There was only one way to go now…forward into the uncertain future.

As she moved off down the hallway, Minerva slipped her left hand into her pocket and withdrew a sealed scroll of parchment, gazing at it sadly. Now, came the hardest part of all. Saying goodbye to her world.

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva hands Albus her resignation.


	23. Resigned

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Three: Resigned**

When the Gargoyle shifted aside to allow her entrance, Minerva reluctantly took her place on the moving stairway and let it deposit her in front of Albus Dumbledore's office door. Gently, she laid her hand on the shining wood and simply stood there for a moment…remembering. She'd stood before this door far too many times to ever count. Usually, she was preoccupied with something, frustrated over some annoying incident, or angry over some trivial problem. Perhaps worried about a student, but no matter how she was feeling when she arrived, she could always count on feeling better after she'd been here for awhile.

The man who lived beyond this door had always been supportive of her whenever she'd needed him. The two of them had fought many battles and weathered many storms together, but this time…this time would be different. This time she couldn't share her burden with him. It wasn't likely that he could do anything to help her, and it wouldn't be proper for her to drag him or the school down with her personal problems. Hogwarts, and Albus himself, had been through far too much turmoil over the last couple of years. She simply couldn't bear to be responsible for embroiling them in yet another scandal. No matter how much she wished it were different, Albus wouldn't be able to help her today, and as she fingered the scroll in her pocket, she knew that when she left his office after talking to him, she'd be feeling worse, not better.

Determined to get through this without breaking down, Minerva straightened her spine and squared her shoulders; then she took a deep breath and knocked firmly on the door. The voice that bade her enter was its usual lively self, and she couldn't help but smile to hear it.

When she entered the room, she found Albus Dumbledore standing in front of a pair of house-elves, each of whom was holding up a bolt of brightly colored fabric for his inspection.

"Ah, Professor McGonagall, excellent! Just the very person I need. You have a keen eye and wonderful taste. Come, help me make a decision." The Headmaster beamed at her and eagerly beckoned her closer.

With a bemused smile on her face, she closed the door behind her and crossed over to stand next to her friend. "How can I help you, Albus?" she asked politely.

"You can give me your valued opinion. I've been thinking that my wardrobe has been getting rather boring of late, so I've made up my mind to have a new robe made up for Christmas this year, and I'm trying to decide which fabric to use. I've narrowed it down to these two here." He waved at the bolts held up by the always cooperative elves. More bolts of discarded fabrics of many assorted colored and types were piled high in the nearby chairs. Apparently, he'd been at this for some time.

"I'm rather favorably disposed towards the red, of course," he confided with a conspiratorial air, "and it would be very Christmasy, but Severus recently pointed out that wearing red all the time does tend to make me look somewhat partial, and perhaps I should consider wearing a color that doesn't specifically represent one or the other of the houses. So I was thinking…maybe purple. What do you think?" With a hopeful expression, he glanced over the rim of his spectacles at her.

Albus would never change, thank goodness. She was going to miss him so much. To hide the bright sharp specks of tears that suddenly blurred her vision slightly, she turned away from the Headmaster and considered the two colorful pieces of fabric being held up by the ever patient elves.

One was indeed a very Christmasy piece in a bright red satin with golden bells scattered across it, interspersed with small sprigs of holly. It was exactly the type of fabric that she could see Albus wearing, though she had to concede that Severus had a point, as self-serving as it was. The other piece was a sumptuous purple velvet. It was a very rich and elegant fabric and would no doubt make a stunning robe.

For a moment, a vision of her tall, impressive friend, with his long white beard spread across his chest, standing regally attired in this rich fabric trimmed with ermine fur shot through her mind. It did present a very becoming image, if it wasn't for the small forest animals scattered across the purple background. No matter how aristocratic your bearing, it was hard to look truly impressive when you were wearing sprightly gamboling squirrels and skunks on your clothing. On the other hand, it was just the sort of thing that people would expect to see the Headmaster wearing, and that Albus himself would happily select.

With a pleasant smile on her lips, she shot a sideways glance at the tall wizard beside her. "Well, you don't usually wear a lot of purple, and I do think that it would look quite nice on you. It certainly is a more…stately…fabric than the red is. Is that the look that you were going for?"

The old wizard's bright eyes twinkled merrily, and his rich voice was full of laughter. "Truth be told, my dear, I don't really care how stately it makes me look. I simply desired something festive. The purple would add some needed variety to my wardrobe, though, and I hoped using it might reassure Severus that I truly do valued his advice. He can get quite testy when he thinks his input is being ignored, you know."

"Really? Now there's a surprise," Minerva commented dryly, and the two of them smiled companionably at one another.

Having made his decision, Dumbledore turned happily back to the elves. "I'll take the purple one, Rangely. Tell Madame Malkin to make it up to my usual measurements, and trim it out with some sort of whitish fur. Skunk might be a nice change of pace." He shot a mischievous glance at Minerva, who tried hard not to laugh.

Pleased that their mission had finally been accomplished to everyone's satisfaction, the elves bowed low, gathered their wares, and told the wizard that his wishes would be followed to the letter; then with identical toothy grins on their small, round faces, they both vanished abruptly.

As the number of beings in the office went from four to two in an eye blink, Dumbledore turned back to his remaining visitor with a smile. "Thank you for your help, Minerva. I know that I can always rely on you to give me good advice. What would I ever do without you?"

"You're welcome," she returned with a small hesitant smile, though her good humor had faded with the elves. What would he do? Unfortunately for both of them, he'd have to find out much sooner than he realized.

Dumbledore seemed to sense her sudden uneasiness now that the house-elves were gone, and the distraction they provided had been dealt with. Waving his arm towards the comfortable chairs set before his fire, he invited her to come and sit with him.

"Sit down, sit down, and tell me why you've come." Deftly, he shepherded her to a chair and sat her down in it before taking its opposite number. "I've been rather worried about you lately, my dear. You've been looking very upset, and worn to a frazzle, and you've missed far too many meals for comfort. Has Ian Standish finally told you why he's here, and is the truth truly that upsetting? How can I help?"

Minerva sank more deeply into the chair in front of the fiery blaze and shivered as if she already sat in a cell in the middle of the North Sea. How could she answer this question without revealing the truth that she couldn't bear to discuss? There seemed to be only one way. By being honest…but only to a point.

She dropped her gaze to the warm, thick rug beneath her toes and fidgeted nervously with the fabric of her skirt. "Yes, Albus, Ian has finally told me why he's here, and it really doesn't have anything to do with Voldemort, at least not directly, so you can stop worrying about that. It turns out that once more it's just a case of Ian being greedy, and as his reason is really rather personal, I'm going to ask you to understand when I tell you that I don't wish to discuss it in detail. At least, not at the moment."

A frown of concern settled into the elder wizard's eyes as he watched his friend struggle with something that was obviously painful and difficult.

"Minerva, we've been friends for a long time. Surely you can trust me with this? I do have your best interest at heart, you know, and I only want to help," he said quietly.

Sadly, she shook her head. "It's not really a matter of trust, Albus. I simply can't talk about it. Not now and not with anyone. It's really for the best if you don't know anything about it. In the long run, that will be by far the better thing, I assure you."

Dumbledore reached across the space between them and took her thin, cold hand in the comforting warmth of his own. "Did he hurt you, Minerva?" His voice was soft and filled with concern.

Reluctantly raising her eyes to his, she forced a weak smile. "No. He wasn't able to force himself on me, if that's what you mean. In fact, in a very real way, I think I've injured him as much as he has injured me. I have a feeling that now that he hasn't gotten what he wants, and he's not going to, I assure you, he'll be leaving soon. He's not particularly happy at the moment, and as a result of that, I'm afraid that he might not deliver a very favorable report to the Board. I'm sorry about that."

With a slightly impatient shake of his head, Dumbledore patted her hand reassuringly. "Don't worry about that. There's nothing bad that Ian can truthfully say about this school or the people who teach in her. We'll easily weather anything that he can throw at us in whatever report he makes to the Board. I'm much more concerned about you. Are you sure that I can't help you with this?"

Abruptly, Minerva pulled her hand away from Dumbledore's and stood up. Anxiously, she began to pace back and forth in the small space before his desk like a lioness in a cage. "There really is nothing that you can do for me at the moment, Albus. I have to deal with this problem on my own. It's irrelevant anyway; I didn't come to talk about any of this."

"Oh? Then why did you come?" inquired the troubled wizard as he watched his Transfiguration professor begin to wear a hole in his carpet with her nervous pacing.

With a deep sigh, Minerva came to a dead stop and reluctantly withdrew the roll of parchment from her pocket. She caressed it with stiff fingers for a moment, then turned around swiftly and held it out to the Headmaster before she could lose her nerve and slip it back into hiding.

"I needed to give you this," she whispered in a soft, raspy tone of voice.

Severely concerned now, Dumbledore stood up to face her and took the roll of parchment from her slightly trembling hand. Slowly, he unrolled the scroll and read its contents. As he read, his expression became grimmer and grimmer. Finally, he raised his eyes to hers once more.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she exclaimed in surprise. "What do you mean, no?"

"No, I won't accept your resignation."

With that calm statement, he attempted to hand the parchment back to her, but she quickly placed her hands behind her back and shook her head. "Oh, please don't make this any harder than it already is. I have to resign. I have no choice about that. It's necessary for the good of the school or I assure you, I wouldn't do it. Please, just take it and let me go." Her painful plea wavered uncertainly on the last word.

"Not without some explanation, Minerva. You owe me that much," Dumbledore said.

"No, I don't." She shook her head sadly. "I owe you my loyalty, and my professional integrity. I may even owe you my friendship, but I don't owe you any information about my personal life that I don't choose to give to you. I did as you asked me to do. I endured Ian's continued presence here. I discovered why he came, but I can't share that information with you. I simply can't. I'm sorry. All I can say is that there's no true danger to the school or anyone else in it, but my staying would put the school at risk from those who would hold a scandal against you. I have to leave now, while there's still time to distance myself from Hogwarts."

"A scandal? My dear, I don't care about any scandal. Nothing in your life could possibly be more scandalous than most of the things in mine. Your life and your safety matter much, much more to me than anything so ephemeral," he exclaimed.

"Oh, Albus, as my friend that might very well be true, but you can't be my friend right now. You have to be the Headmaster of this school, and as such, your obligation is to the school and to those who look to it. No one individual and their problems matters as much. I simply can't remain here, acting as Deputy Headmistress, when I know that to do that will damage the school's reputation. I have to go…now. I'm sorry."

"There's nothing that I can do to change your mind?" he asked plaintively.

"No," she whispered softly. Then before she could think twice about it, and thus hold herself back, she threw herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely for a moment. As he tried to embrace her in return, she pulled sharply back and ran a quick, trembling hand through his beard.

"Goodbye, Albus. Thank you for…" But she couldn't finish, instead she ducked her head once, muttered, "I'm sorry," and fled from the office without a backward glance.

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"Resigned?" Snape's face and voice registered his complete astonishment. "You can't be serious." The bottom dropped out of his stomach and a cold shiver made him flinch before he could stop himself. She couldn't simply leave!

In the flickering glow from the fire, Dumbledore sighed and shook his head wearily as he watched his shocked Potions master sink into a chair before his desk and try to absorb this surprising bit of information. "Oh, but I'm afraid that I am. She was in here earlier today, handing in her resignation. I couldn't seem to talk her out of it. Though I did try."

"But why?" whispered Snape dazedly. This made no sense, but then very little that Minerva had done lately had made sense to him.

"She wouldn't tell me. That's why I'm glad you returned before it got to be too late. I was hoping that you might have better luck finding out her reason for leaving than I did. Perhaps you might even be able to change her mind."

Snape's eyes snapped back into sharp focus at this sudden turn in the conversation, and he frowned at the Headmaster with a small huff of disagreement. "Change Minerva's mind about something? Not bloody likely." Then he hesitated and added softly, "Why me?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Oh, my boy, it's obvious that…" He let his voice trail off at the stiff, guardedness that had come over Snape's expression at his words. Thinking better of what he'd been about to say, he tried a different tack. "You have a way of getting people to tell you things that others lack, Severus. I thought that since begging and cajoling didn't work, perhaps needling and demanding might."

The stiff set of Snape's shoulders relaxed a fraction, though he raised a slightly disapproving brow at Dumbledore's assessment of his interrogation techniques. He could hardly deny them, though.

"Still, if she wouldn't tell you… What about enlisting Pince? They're friends. Surely Minerva would tell her why she was leaving. Don't women always tell each other their secrets?"

"Not in this case. Irma was shocked to hear of Minerva's resignation. Although, apparently they'd already spoken about the possibility of her leaving, at least temporarily. However, Minerva refused to tell her why she had to go."

Snape frowned darkly. "Her leaving must have something to do with Standish. Perhaps it's time to approach that arrogant bastard a bit more directly."

"It's too late for that, I'm afraid. He's gone," said Dumbledore.

"Gone? Just like that?" Surprise once more tinged the Potions master's voice. "The Dark Lord must not be aware of that, as he asked me just this evening how things were progressing. Though he still refused to tell me precisely what Standish had been required to do." He paused and directed a thoughtful glance at Dumbledore. "Do you think his leaving like this, and Minerva's resignation, means that Standish was successful in his mission…or not?"

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and stroked his flowing beard slowly. "Standish basically barged into my office before dinner, announced that he'd seen enough, and that he'd be leaving immediately. He didn't seem pleased. Minerva told me that she wasn't going to give Standish what he wanted. Standish's reaction certainly bears that out."

"True," agreed Snape. "If that's the case though, why is Minerva resigning? If it was a simple matter of her refusing his sexual advances, and that was all that Standish had been implying he was after, at least to me, then she should be relieved that he was leaving…not leaving herself."

Dumbledore nodded somberly. "That would seem logical." He paused with a thoughtful expression on his face. "Minerva talked about there being some sort of scandal if she stayed, but she didn't explain what she meant by that."

Snape shook his head in puzzlement. "A scandal? What kind of scandal could Minerva possibly be involved in?"

"I have no idea. It made no sense to me. We need to know what he's done to Minerva, Severus, because obviously he's done something to force her to leave us. I don't want her to go."

Snape frowned uneasily. "No, I don't…" he said quietly, then hesitated and tried again "She'd be very difficult to replace."

"Impossible to replace, Severus. Impossible. Find out what happened." Dumbledore's soft tone belied the absoluteness of the order.

Troubled black eyes focused on somber blue ones, and Snape pushed himself to his feet.

"I will do my best," he said, and without any further comment, he whirled around and stalked from the office.

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**Next Chapter:** Snape tries to get Minerva to talk to him.


	24. Drowning of Sorrows

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Four: Drowning of Sorrows**

The drafty, dim halls of the old castle were virtually silent at this late hour as Snape swept through them on his way to Minerva's rooms. His mind still couldn't completely grasp the fact that she'd actually resigned. Trying to imagine Hogwarts without Minerva in it was almost inconceivable to him. She'd always been there and always should be. Life would lose so much of its pleasure without her. Who would he argue with? What fun would it be to take points away from Gryffindor House if she wasn't there to be disgruntled about it? Winning the Quidditch cup wouldn't be half as satisfying if she wasn't there to shine covetous eyes on it and plot to win it back. She couldn't leave. She simply couldn't. If she left him, then they'd never get another chance to…

Alarm caused his steps to falter. What if he was already too late? Albus said that she'd submitted her resignation that afternoon. What if she'd packed up immediately and left even before dinner? No. If she'd already left the castle, the insidious network of house-elf spies would've informed Dumbledore, and he wouldn't have been sent on this errand.

Surely, she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye to him? He frowned darkly as he turned the corner into her corridor. Not that he'd have been here to receive her goodbye if she'd offered it, having been summoned to dance attendance on the devil all evening. Anyway, considering the current state of their relationship, she might very well leave without telling him. No doubt she believed that he wouldn't care.

When he arrived at her door, he wasted no time in knocking firmly and stood waiting for an answer with an impatient frown on his face. When no answer was forthcoming, he knocked again…even more firmly. By applying his ear to the door and listening intently, he could discern faint sounds of movement on the other side. Someone was definitely in there. It had to be her.

Snape opened his mouth and added an entreaty to his third knock. "I know you're in there, Minerva, so there's no point in trying to deceive me. Open this door. We need to talk."

Just as the frustrated Snape was fingering his wand and trying to decide how best to open the door himself, it was flung back, and he was faced with an amazing vision that swayed gently in the doorway facing him. Minerva stood unsteadily in front of him with bleary unfocused eyes and peered carefully up into his face as if she was trying to figure out who on earth he was.

With her tangled hair floating around her like a shawl, she looked like some sort of fairy child who'd lost her way and wasn't quite sure where she was. The usually primly attired woman wore nothing on her slender form but a rather flimsy nightgown that was far too light for the season, and far too revealing for her to be wearing it where anyone else would see her. Her robe trailed after her like a bridal train, suspended from her elbows and threatening to fall to the floor unnoticed at any moment. One dangling hand held a mostly empty bottle of whisky clasped tightly in its grasp, and one strap of her lavender gown had slid unnoticed halfway down her arm, permitting a generous slice of her bosom to be viewed by any who might glance her way. And Snape was doing a whole lot more than glancing. He stared.

His jaw actually dropped open at this astounding sight. Here was something that he'd never expected to encounter. Angry Minerva, frustrated Minerva, even sad and crying Minerva, yes…but Minerva McGonagall so plastered that she couldn't even see straight? No. Not that she was a tea-totaller by any means, but even on that well remembered night when they'd first begun their private liaison, she'd still known who he was and had retained the ability to walk a straight line with only a little deviation from the center. Clearly at the moment, though, the only thing keeping Minerva upright was her own determination and sheer dumb luck.

She frowned up at him and shook her head, causing her body to lurch wildly, and Snape to reach out to try to steady her and keep her from falling gracelessly to the floor. "Careful, Minerva. Perhaps you should sit down."

"I don't need to sit down," she exclaimed with fervor as she tried without success to shake off his restraining hand. Determinedly, she looked up into his face once more, and suddenly her expression brightened like the sun coming out from behind a cloud.

"Shevrous…is that you?"

As he grimaced at her mangling of his name, it occurred to him how much he'd always enjoyed hearing her say his name aloud. With her soft burr, her lovely accent had always made his name sound much less harsh than it tended to on the lips of others.

"Yes, Minerva, it's me. We need to talk. May I come in?"

"Talk?" Her frown returned, and she shook her head fiercely. "You haven't wanted to talk to me lately. You don't trust me anymore. Don't want me. Did Albus send you? That old goat. He'll try anything to get me to stay, but it won't work. No, sir. It's none of his business. It's none of yours, either." She aimed a finger at his chest and thrust forward with it, missing by almost a foot.

Then, with extra effort, she managed to pull her arm from his grasp and stumbled back away from him. Before she went sprawling on the floor though, she somehow managed to regain her balance and, turning her back on him, she swayed her way across the room towards the door to her balcony.

Snape hurriedly stepped inside the room and shut the door firmly behind him. The last thing they'd need was for some wandering student to get a glimpse of her in this condition. Whatever her problems were, that could only make them worse.

The room he entered, usually so neat and tidy, looked as if it had been searched by an incompetent. There were two partially packed trunks standing open near the bookcases. Yet most of the clothing, books and other items that were no doubt intended to go into them were still strewn haphazardly around on every surface.

Obviously, she'd been distracted by the liquor before she'd made that much headway with her packing. Just as well for him, he supposed. At least it meant that she hadn't managed to leave before he could talk to her, though he'd never known her to utterly lose control this way. Whatever had caused this reaction must be more serious than he'd imagined.

Very concerned now, he followed in her unsteady footsteps and watched as she upended her bottle to take a rather large swig, managing to spill a portion of the drink down the front of her gown in the process. She jumped as the liquor ran down between her breasts and wiped inaccurately at herself before upending the bottle once more and finishing it off completely.

"Oh, dear, that's all of it," she complained and let the bottle fall unheeded to the floor along with one of the sleeves of her robe. She staggered once more and reached out a hand to steady herself against the back of her desk chair. "I know there's another bottle here somewhere," she murmured softly while she looked vaguely around her as if expecting it to simply step up and introduce itself.

Snape reached out, grasping her arm as gently as he could and still maintain a grip, and tried to steer her back into the room towards the sofa near the fire.

"I don't think another bottle is necessary at the moment. Perhaps, it would be best if you sat down for a while. Then we could talk."

"Who?" Apparently, she'd forgotten his presence already and seemed surprised when he took her arm. "Oh…Sevrious…what are you doing here?"

With a grim expression on his face, he tightened his grip and began to lead her across the room towards the hearth, while trying to keep them both from tripping over her trailing robe.

"I'm here to find out why you want to leave us," he stated quietly.

"Leave you? I don't want to leave you," she exclaimed heatedly, stopping dead in the middle of the room. "I just have no choice. No choice at all."

"Why don't you have any choice, Minerva?" Snape asked as he searched her face for answers.

Her eyes filled with tears in an instant, and she reached a shaking hand up to lightly caress the side of his face. "I can't tell you…I can't. I wish…I…ohhh…" Suddenly, she moaned softly, her eyes rolled closed, and she collapsed as if her strings had been cut.

Caught by surprise, Snape barely managed to catch her as she fell. He swung her limp form up into his arms, paying no attention to the fact that her robe fluttered to the floor behind them, and carried her into her bedroom, laying her gently on the top of her bed. The room in here was only slightly disarrayed with the wardrobe hanging open and a few stray possessions out of their usual places, but for the most part, things were still well organized and most of her clothes were packed neatly into a practically full trunk. Obviously, she'd begun her packing in here and had made good progress before becoming sidetracked by the bottle of whisky.

With a frown, Snape turned his concentration back to the unconscious woman on the bed. He didn't like what he saw. Colorful bruises stood out up and down the length of her upper arms where someone with strong hands had obviously grabbed hold of her roughly, more than once. Some of the marks had faded to a sickly yellow, while others still remained purple or black. The red mark that he'd noticed on her throat the previous evening stood out against the pale flesh even more strongly now than when freshly made. Her face looked drawn and tired with the delicate flesh under her eyes darkened in reminiscence of yet more bruising.

Gently, he reached out and pulled the strap of her nightgown back up into its normal position and ran a caressing hand through her tangled hair and down over her flushed cheek. What the hell was wrong? What had that bastard Standish done to her to produce this sort of completely uncharacteristic effect? It was apparent that he'd physically abused her while he was here, but this reaction seemed to be about more than that. Something was seriously wrong. He'd never seen Minerva come unglued like this. She, more than anyone else he knew, was always calm and controlled and able to handle anything that life threw at her. She was a fighter…yet she seemed to have given up the fight…why?

Obviously, he wasn't going to be getting any answers out of her until he sobered her up. He had some sober-up potion down in his quarters. Did he dare to leave her for long enough to go and get it? Surely, she'd be all right for a short time. Without intervention, she was likely to remain unconscious for hours anyway.

Thoughtfully, he ran a gentle finger along the side of her cheek once more and smiled a slightly dark-edged smile. He should probably also bring along a follow up potion to deal with the nausea and headache that were sure to arise with sobriety. Though it was always entertaining to watch others have to deal with the aftereffects of overindulgence, it wouldn't be particularly useful in this case, and he wanted to spare her any more pain if possible. Not to mention that if she was too hungover, he wasn't likely to get the answers that he sought.

With a final concerned glance at the sleeping woman, Snape got up off of the bed and left the room swiftly. Almost as an afterthought, he paused to erect new wards on her door that would allow him to reenter at will, but that would prevent her from leaving. There was a slim chance that she might regain consciousness before he could return and attempt to wander off somewhere, and that would be a disaster. Once that was completed, he set off for the dungeon as quickly as he could go.

When Snape returned a short time later, he reentered Minerva's bedroom to find the woman on her feet clinging to one of the twisted mahogany bedposts and swaying dangerously. Amazed that she'd be conscious again so quickly, the Potions master crossed to her dresser to set his vials of potion down where they'd be safe before moving across the room towards her with the idea of getting her to lie back down on the bed.

As he approached, she raised her head and saw him coming. Breaking into a happy smile, she let go of the bedpost to reach for him. He stepped close enough to grab her just as she lurched unsteadily against him, causing them both to overbalance and fall together to the floor. Cursing under his breath, Snape nevertheless managed to twist around just enough to be the one who landed first on the carpet with her sprawled out on top of him.

The impact with the rather solid floor knocked the wind out of the Potions master, and while he was recovering his breath, the inebriated woman on his chest crawled much more firmly on top of him and began to nuzzle his neck affectionately.

All the while she was kissing him, she was murmuring in a plaintive tone, "Make love to me, Sevrous. That used to be so much fun. Why did we stop?" Her hands began to skim down over his body, flirting with the buttons of his frock coat as she rubbed her body seductively against his.

The stunned man groaned low in his throat, gritted his teeth, and tried to pry her off of him. "Not now, Minerva. I have something for you to drink. I need you to drink it before we do anything else, all right?"

To his shock, she lifted her head and giggled. "I've already had a drink…lots of them…" As he stared up at her, she returned to trying to unbutton his coat, a feat of coordination that was far beyond her at the moment.

"Yes, I can see that," he retorted dryly. "This is a little different, though. It'll make you feel much better."

An amused smile drifted across her lips as she continued to struggle with his buttons. "I feel just fine…" Then, quite suddenly, her expression became more uncertain, and she looked down into his eyes. "But why did you stop making love to me? I don't… Oh." A cloud settled into her eyes. "I do remember… You said I was too old, that I wasn't good enough."

Snape shook his head. "No. Stopping was your idea, Minerva," he stated firmly.

"It was? I don't think so. You said that I wasn't any fun. You know, I can be fun…" Her voice became rather determined.

"Yes, I know that you can. Please, Minerva…if you would just drink the potion." He gestured towards the dresser and tried to shift her off of his body to no avail.

Instead, she seized his head firmly with both hands and lowered her head. "I'll show you," she whispered softly against his lips before kissing him passionately. With a moan, Snape couldn't help but respond to the intensity of her kiss, pulling her firmly against him and running his hands down over her back. It'd been far too long since he'd held her like this, and his body was more than ready to respond to her advances.

With a smirk, she pulled back and stated smugly, "See…I'm good."

He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, you are, but…"

Without letting him finish, she murmured, "I'll show you." Then she sat up on top of him again, settling herself firmly against his groin. Her eyes lit up as she could feel his firm erection hardening even further beneath her. "You see," she stated triumphantly. "You do want me. I can feel it."

As she rubbed against him, Snape moaned once more and grasped her firmly by the arms. He didn't want to hurt her, but this had gone far enough. Much too far for his peace of mind, actually. Though the thought did flit through his mind that perhaps he should simply shag her senseless as she seemed to want, and then he could just pour the potions down her throat and be done with it.

However, the thought of then having to face the sober Minerva and account for his actions firmly removed that idea from his mind, as tempting as it was. Instead, he flipped her off of him onto her back as gently as he could manage. Then he held her down against the floor and stated firmly, "Now I'm going to get up and get the potions, and then you're going to drink them for me. I've had quite enough of this foolishness."

She smiled happily up at the looming man and answered, "Oh, I love it when you pretend to be masterful."

"Who's pretending?" he snarled back.

With as much dignity as he could recapture, Snape got to his feet and readjusted his clothing. Then he crossed the room to the dresser and reclaimed his vials of potion. When he returned to Minerva's side, she'd managed to pull herself up into a sitting position and was leaning back against the end of the bed looking a trifle green.

"Oh…" she moaned softly. "Everything's spinning."

"What a surprise," murmured the Potions master as he knelt next to her and uncorked the first vial. "Can you drink this yourself or will you need my help?"

With unfocused eyes peering at his hand as it swam in front of her, she frowned in concentration and held a shaking hand out for the vial. "Of course, I can drink it. I drank all the whisky, didn't I?"

"Oh, yes, apparently you did." With a shake of his head, Snape held the vial to her lips and helped her to swallow its contents. The effect was almost immediate and quite dramatic. All color leached from her face, and she moaned softly, clutching first at her head and then her stomach.

"Oh, my, god," she moaned again. "Severus… What are you doing here? Why do I feel so horrid?"

He raised an eyebrow and answered softly, "You feel the way anyone would who'd drunk an entire bottle of whisky by themselves…no doubt on an empty stomach."

"Well, my stomach doesn't feel so empty now. In fact…oh, dear…" She raised her hand to cover her mouth and looked pleadingly at him from wide eyes.

Quickly, he uncorked the second vial and held it out to her. "Here, drink this; it will settle your stomach and take care of that headache as well."

Without a word, she grabbed the vial from his hand and downed its contents, then as the horrible feelings of nausea and throbbing pain began to fade, she sat back against the bed and closed her eyes wearily. When she opened them again, she looked appalled.

"Please, tell me that this is all a nightmare. Tell me that I didn't just throw myself at you like some common streetwalker."

"Well, I could "tell" you that if you wish…" he said with a smirk as he settled onto the floor next to her. Then his expression grew serious, and he asked her quietly, "What do you remember?"

Her eyes closed and she covered them with her shaking hands. "Oh, I can't even face you. What you must think…" Reluctantly, she lowered her hands. "I'm sorry, Severus. My behavior has been disgraceful."

He shook his head. "It really doesn't matter. Obviously, something important is troubling you severely to make you drink like this. What's wrong, Minerva? Why did you resign?"

Pain rippled across her face, and she lowered her eyes to her still trembling hands. In the process, she got a good look at her attire and gasped loudly. "Oh, my goodness," she exclaimed in horror. "Why am I wearing this flimsy thing? Where's my robe?"

She scrambled to her feet and looked futilely about her before heading off into the next room. With a frown on his face, Snape got to his feet and followed her. When he reached the doorway, he watched her shrug into the missing garment and belt it securely around her thin waist. Then she clutched the lapels close to her neck and moved over to stare down into the burning fire.

Snape joined her silently. Together, they simply stood there for a long moment. She watched the dancing flames while he watched her struggle with herself.

"I'm not leaving until I get an answer, you know," he stated quietly.

Her troubled face rose up to meet his, and she shook her head. "I can't tell you. I can't. You wouldn't believe me even if I did."

"How can you be so certain? Now you're the one who isn't trusting me."

"It's not a matter of trust. There's nothing that you can do to help me, and I don't want to drag you, or anyone else into my troubles."

"Why don't you let me be the judge of whether or not I can help you? I'm quite serious when I say that I'm not leaving without an answer."

His voice was soft and low, and she closed her eyes and shivered as it washed over her. What she really wanted to do was to turn towards him and bury herself in his arms, to let the warm comfort of his embrace hold her fears at bay, for a little while at least, but she simply didn't dare to try…to take the chance that he might refuse her.

Hesitantly, he raised a hand and laid it on her shoulder. "Tell me the truth, Minerva. What did that bastard do to you to make you run away from us like this?"

When her eyes opened again they were filled with tears. Suddenly, she felt so absolutely bone weary that it just didn't seem worth the effort to fight any longer. "It's not what Ian did, that's the problem, Severus. It's what it appears that I did that's causing me to have to leave."

He frowned in confusion. "And what did you do?"

"Apparently, I committed a murder, and now I'm going to have to be punished for it."

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva tells Severus the truth.


	25. Laying Out The Evidence

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Five: Laying Out the Evidence**

"Murder? You can't be serious," stated Snape incredulously. He must've wandered into another reality while he wasn't looking. First Minerva resigns from Hogwarts, throwing away a life she's happily lived for decades, then she gets so drunk that she can hardly stand up, and now she confesses to murder? This simply could not be the woman he thought he knew so well.

Minerva watched as disbelief and shock spread vividly across Snape's pale face. How could she have hoped for anything different? This just illustrated so clearly why she couldn't tell anyone about this. No one would believe it possible; then, once they saw the evidence against her, no one would believe it wasn't.

Her expression hardened with disappointment, and she turned away from him and back to the fire. "I told you that you wouldn't believe me," she said in a tired voice laced with pain. "Go away, Severus. Leave me alone."

Reluctantly realizing that he wasn't going to get anywhere by expressing his skepticism before he heard her out, Snape frowned down at her and sighed. "I apologize if I sounded disbelieving, but the idea of you committing a murder seems to be an absurd one. You're one of the most decent and morally upstanding people I've ever known. It's hard to give credence to such an idea. However, obviously, you're quite serious. Please…go on."

She hesitated and looked up at him again, trying to determine what he was really thinking. Severus was always so hard to read accurately. As they measured each other stare-for-stare, Snape broke the silence. "Whom are you supposed to have murdered?"

Deciding that at this point she had nothing to lose by telling him, Minerva turned away from him with a sigh and sank down onto the couch. Steepling her hands in front of her, she rested her head against them while she gathered her thoughts. Silence reigned for a few moments, then she raised her head and looked up at him.

"A man named Henry Grant. He worked for Ian as a groom when we had horses on the estate back during the early years of our marriage."

Snape sat down next to her. "And did you murder him?" he asked quietly.

Minerva's eyes filled with pain and uncertainty. "I don't know. That's the worst part of all this. I simply don't know."

"Perhaps you should start at the beginning," he suggested reasonably.

She gave a short, sharp laugh. "I'm not even sure where the beginning is."

"Well, I'd say that the beginning was Ian Standish's visit to Hogwarts. Why did he come? What did he want from you?"

"Blackmail…money…sex. Ian is a greedy man. Basically, he pushed for as much as he thought he could get. It didn't work. He had to leave empty-handed, but now… Well, even though he didn't win, I lose."

Snape's face still reflected his puzzlement. In sympathy, Minerva reached out and rested her hand on his for a brief moment, squeezing it lightly. Then she sat back against the cushions of the sofa and began to speak.

"As we know, Ian has backed several ventures for Voldemort in the past. When Ian arrived here, he was fairly cagey at first, implying that he wanted me back in his life again, but what he really wanted was money. So it's my guess that he's in debt to someone, and considering his desperation and the lengths that he's willing to go to, I'd bet everything I have that Voldemort is the one he's promised the money to. The encouragement that you've said that he's gotten from that monster certainly supports that. Obviously, I don't know what Voldemort wants to do with it; perhaps you might know that better than I, but it's irrelevant to this. The fact is that Ian needs money, and apparently, he doesn't have it. Albus has checked into his finances and says that he's quite short of funds at the moment."

Snape nodded thoughtfully. "That would make sense. Money is really all that Standish ever had that the Dark Lord would value."

"Well, it's not that surprising to me that Ian needs money. He and his sons have always been spendthrifts. Money slips through their fingers like water. In addition, Ian often gambles…and he tends to lose. He came here with the idea that he could blackmail me into handing over the McGonagall estate to him. He'd had it within his grasp once, when we were married, but when he agreed to petition for a divorce, the estate came back under my control as the sole heir. He knows that the estate is quite profitable in and of itself, but more importantly, he could easily make a great deal of money simply by selling it off, singly or in pieces, to the highest bidder.

"In addition to the estate, he thought that he could pressure me into sleeping with him again. Apparently, he and his wife are not particularly sexually compatible, and my guess is that there are fewer lovely young women who'll consent to have him at this point in his life, for whatever reason. Maybe the women he runs into are simply getting smarter; who knows?"

She sighed gloomily and stared into the fire.

"Why did Ian consent to divorce you, Minerva? Obviously, he gave up a great deal when he did that. Why was he so foolish?"

Her gaze dropped to her folded hands, and reluctantly she continued in a small voice, "Ian, like myself, was the sole child of a wealthy pureblood family. Unlike the McGonagalls, who've always been a bit eccentric, the Standish family was much more…traditional. They've always counted their importance within the community, not by their accomplishments, but by the number of heirs they could produce and the rich matches they could make with them.

"Ian's father had let down the family by only having one child, though he married well. It was up to Ian to do better. I endured five miscarriages in six years of marriage."

"Five," murmured Snape in surprise.

"The last one almost killed me. It was several days before they knew that I'd survive…though my son did not. That was the only time that the baby survived long enough to be buried. My previous miscarriages had all occurred much earlier in the pregnancies."

She shivered in painful remembrance and clasped her hands around herself protectively, keeping her eyes averted from Snape's. "Ian was sorry that I survived. I've always been a little surprised that he didn't find some way to assure my death. I don't imagine that it would've been too difficult, but perhaps he simply didn't have the chance…or the courage to act. Certainly, he could see the handwriting on the wall by that point. He knew that if he wanted heirs, he was going to have to let me go and take another wife, and it would have been much easier for him if I'd simply died and let him get on with it. He'd have lost nothing that way. About that time, his mistress managed to get herself pregnant, so rather than miss out on that opportunity, he accepted reality, divorced me, and lost my estate in the process."

"It seems he now regrets the loss," stated Snape dryly.

"Oh yes," Minerva readily agreed. "He's always regretted the loss of the estate. Ian's a very greedy man. Letting easy wealth like that go wasn't something he wanted to do, you can be sure."

"He seems to have come to regret the loss of more than the land." Snape watched her carefully.

With a short burst of harsh laughter, she flashed a chiding look his way. "Oh, don't go making the mistake of thinking that Ian cared for me. He didn't…not one bit…not ever. It was only sex that he regretted losing. Like all men I've ever been involved with, it was always only about sex." Her voice was tinged with bitterness, and she looked down and away from him again.

Snape frowned, but before he could speak, Minerva continued, "Apparently Nelda isn't all that interested in sex herself. What she was after was a comfortable situation, and the prestige of being the wife of a powerful man. Unlike myself, she possessed the ability to carry a child to term, and thus could give Ian what he required…sons. Three, as it turned out. A fairly useless lot apparently, but with all the proper equipment to carry on the family name. So he had his heirs, and I had my freedom. An equitable trade, it seemed to me. I've certainly been much happier without him. For many, many years, I thought I was rid of him for good, until he showed up here again demanding payment or he'd reveal my guilt over something that I never even knew happened."

"The murder of Henry Grant," murmured Snape softly.

She nodded. "Yes."

"Tell me about that."

A helpless look came over her. "I wish I could, but until Ian showed up here with this evidence of his that seemed to show that I was responsible for this man's death, I didn't even realize that there had been a murder. Grant vanished years ago, but everyone assumed that he'd done so voluntarily. No one ever suspected foul play."

"What sort of evidence did Ian have then?"

Minerva paused and turned to Snape thoughtfully. "The easiest way to explain would probably be to show you. Wait here a moment."

Swiftly, she rose to her feet and crossed the room to her desk. There, she slid the roll top into its open position and reached inside to lift out the rather bulky stone box that she'd come to hate so very much. Holding it carefully in both hands, she returned to the couch and set it down on the flat cushion between herself and her companion.

"Do you know what this is, Severus?" she asked curiously. Perhaps she was the only one ignorant of the existence of such things.

He shook his head as he examined the box carefully. "No. I've never seen anything quite like it before. What is it?"

"It's a pensieve copy."

Snape's eyebrows flew up to his hairline as he lifted his face to hers. "A pensieve copy? You mean it contains a copy of memories stored in a pensieve? I didn't know that such a thing was possible."

"No, neither did I, but it seems that it is. The copies of memories that are stored in this thing are apparently copies of my own memories from approximately fifty years ago. They appear to show me killing Mr. Grant, and then disposing of his body as well. Ian has the pensieve with the original memories in his possession. Naturally, he wasn't going to show it to me and risk my somehow destroying it, so he made this somewhat crude copy. Unlike a true pensieve, you can't go into the memories and experience them. All you can do is watch from the outside, rather like going to a Muggle cinema, but that's bad enough, I assure you."

Snape nodded grimly. "I imagine it is."

"Would you like to see it?" whispered Minerva.

"Yes…if you don't mind."

She laughed shortly, and tears sparkled once more and were impatiently wiped away. "Oh, of course I mind, but I've gone this far. You might as well see the entire case against me."

She fumbled with the pockets of her robe and then looked vaguely around her at the cluttered room. "I seem to have misplaced my wand. Do you have yours?" She looked back at him.

"Of course," he stated dryly and withdrew it from his sleeve.

She nodded and pointed to the indentation in the side of the box. "Prod the box there with your wand, and it will activate the viewer."

Silently, Snape did as instructed, and then watched in fascination and growing horror as the events of Henry Grant's long ago murder unrolled before his eyes. Although, the images were shown from the murderer's point of view, and he could never see a face, somehow he didn't have any trouble identifying Minerva as the likely culprit. The slender hand that cast the spell seemed familiar in shape and manner of movement, and she held her wand in much the same way that she did now. When the recording had run its course, he raised his eyes to hers once more.

"Why isn't there any sound?" he asked.

"I don't know. It just doesn't have any. Perhaps that's a limitation of the copying process."

Snape nodded thoughtfully as he continued to stare down at the pensieve copy. "Perhaps."

"Pretty damning, isn't it?" whispered Minerva.

"You don't remember any of this?" he asked cautiously.

"No." She shook her head and gazed sadly down at the block of roughly hewn stone. "But it's me. It's my hand…my wand…my ring. I even vaguely recognize the sleeve of the robe, but the incident itself is a complete blank. Obviously, the vivid memories of the event were removed and stored in a pensieve or Ian wouldn't have them to copy, but usually there remains an echo, a less vivid imprint to remind you that something had happened, even if the more colorful emotions of the event are gone. But I have absolutely no recollection of this at all. No knowledge that it ever occurred, and considering the enormity of this incident, I can't imagine that I'd simply forget it."

"Perhaps you were obliviated," Snape suggested.

"Obliviated?" Why hadn't that possibility occurred to her? "Is there anyway to tell?" she asked.

"Actually, there might be. It depends on whether or not you've been obliviated many times in your life. It's not possible to tell one scar from another."

"To my knowledge, I've never been obliviated," Minerva asserted firmly. "Of course, I wouldn't remember if I had been, now would I?"

"Not if it was properly done," Snape agreed. "There are other sorts of memory blocks and charms, of course, but if I wanted to be sure that someone never remembered something damning, I'd be sure they were properly obliviated. When someone is obliviated, a scar is formed in the mind. It will stand out amongst someone's memories like a blank wound…dead and dull. It's possible to tell the general age of such obliviation scars, but not to pinpoint it exactly, and it's not possible to recapture the memories that the procedure destroyed; they're gone for good."

"Could you look into my mind and tell if I'd been obliviated?" Minerva asked with a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Yes. I could. Simply recognizing an obliviation scar only takes a very rudimentary skill at Legilimency. A Ministry Obliviator could probably tell much more than I could, but if you'll allow me to try, I could probably tell you fairly quickly whether a scar exists or not."

"All right." She nodded determinedly. "Then do it. That will answer one question for me at least."

"Remember, all it will do is tell you that someone obliviated you…not who did it or exactly when it was done."

"If you find a scar, then it won't be difficult to know who did it. Ian trained to be an Obliviator. He was quite good at the job, but it wasn't prestigious enough for him or his father so he moved on to the law and moved up through the ranks to become a member of the Wizengemot instead. If I was obliviated in secret, then I'll lay odds that Ian is the one who did it." Her expression had turned grim and cold. "Which means that he lied. Not that that should surprise me. He told me that he recently found the pensieve, along with the wand that I used back then, hidden in a cupboard in the room that was mine when I lived in his house, but if he obliviated me, then he obviously knew all about this incident at the time it happened."

"Perhaps, he was the one who killed Henry Grant," suggested Snape.

Minerva shook her head. "No. As much as I'd like to believe that I wasn't responsible, that was my hand and my wand in the memory, not Ian's, and there's no blurring of the mental image as there would be if they were the memories of someone using Polyjuice. However, it's certainly probable that Ian knows much more about this whole incident than he told me."

"What about the wand that he claims to have found with the pensieve? Is it yours?"

"He didn't let me see the wand, but it must be mine. It would be extremely easy to check so Ian isn't likely to lie about that. I lost it, or thought I did, back about that time. I even reported it as missing before obtaining another one. A record of that would still be on file at the Ministry no doubt, even after all this time. According to Ian, by using Priori Incantatem on the wand, it shows that the last two spells cast were Avada Kadavra and a transfiguration spell that would correspond to what's seen in the pensieve."

"I see," Snape murmured softly. His face had taken on a decidedly somber expression as they'd talked.

Minerva sighed. His opinion of the damning nature of the evidence was easily discernable from his voice. She hardly needed to ask what he thought. "Yes. It all looks pretty grim. Ian promised that if I didn't give in to him, he was going to turn all this over to the Ministry immediately and see that I was arrested and charged with murder. When I refused to let him blackmail me, the clock started ticking. He left earlier today. If he's true to his word, he may already have gone to the Ministry. Even if he hasn't yet, it's only a matter of time, and probably not very much time. I need to leave, and leave now. Tomorrow at the latest. If I'm arrested here, it will look bad for the school. If I've already resigned and gone, then the school might have a chance of escaping the scandal. Albus can truthfully say that he knew nothing about it."

"That's not a good reason to leave," argued the Potions master. "We can't protect you if you go. If you're here, there's a chance that we can help you, keep you out of prison while his claims are investigated."

She shook her head and smiled sadly. "That's a nice thought, but not very practical. My mind is made up. I'm leaving first thing in the morning. I'll go home and await them there."

"They could accuse you of flight, you know."

"How? I'm not going to make a secret of my whereabouts. No. I'm leaving and that's that. Now, you said that you can tell if someone has been obliviated or not. Would you be willing to look into my mind and see?" asked Minerva.

"Yes, if you're sure that you're willing," agreed Snape.

"That's all you'll be looking for, isn't it? You won't be examining all of my thoughts and memories." A faint stab of reluctance slid through her when she thought about all the feelings and thoughts that she'd rather he didn't see.

He raised a brow at her reluctance, but under the circumstances thought better of teasing her about keeping secrets. "No. I promise to invade your privacy as little as possible."

"Okay then." She nodded decisively. "What do I have to do?"

"Just relax and try to empty your mind as much as you can." He hesitated and added softly. "It would be easier if I touched you."

A pang of longing hit her strongly at his words. Oh, how she longed for him to touch her, at least one more time before she had to go, but now wasn't the time for such thoughts. Especially not now that he might be able to sense them in her mind. To cover her discomfort at her sudden surge of feeling for him, she reached over and picked up the stone bowl. Then she got up and deposited it on the mantelpiece and returned and sat down a bit closer to Snape. Extending her face towards him, she nodded soberly. "Whatever you need to do, Severus, just do it. I want to know. Have I been obliviated or not?"

He nodded. "Very well. Close your eyes, take a deep breath and try to empty your mind."

She complied with his instructions, and he laid a gentle hand on her temple and clasped his wand tightly. "Open your eyes and look into mine," he said softly. She did as she was told, falling easily into the darkness. Faintly, she heard Snape murmur, "Legilimens."

Immediately, she could feel his presence in her mind scurrying here and there, touching and probing lightly. His mental probe was a flowing warmth that skimmed the surface but didn't intrude on the depths. In a very short time, she felt him withdraw his hand, and she was able to pull her eyes away from his.

"Well?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "There is a scar…a fairly substantial one…very old. Obviously, sometime in the past, you were obliviated. By the ragged edges of it, I'd say that you struggled against its creation, but that's all that I can say for sure."

Anger slid across her face, and she clenched her hands tightly in her lap. "Damn you, Ian Standish. What did you do to me? Will I ever know the truth?"

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**Next Chapter:** Severus and Minerva argue about her leaving…and rediscover their passion for each other.


	26. A Truth That Can't Be Denied

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Twenty Six: A Truth that Can't Be Denied **

**This chapter has been altered to better comply with stringent guidelines concerning sexual content. The unaltered chapter can be found on my homepage, which can be found via a link on my profile page here on fanfiction. Thank you. shadowycat**

"It may not be easy. The truth of this situation has been buried for a very long time." Snape's dark eyes regarded her somberly.

"I know," whispered Minerva softly. "I know."

Thoughtfully, Snape turned his eyes back to the stone box that stood as silent sentry to this mystery. He got to his feet and retrieved it from the mantel. Then he turned back to the woman on the couch.

"May I look at this again?" he asked.

Surprised, she nodded. "Yes, I suppose so, but why?"

He shook his head slightly and frowned down at it. "I'm not sure. Something about it bothered me. I…I just think it might be helpful," he finished awkwardly. He hated feeling so uncertain.

Lifting her shoulders in a helpless shrug, she gazed at the hated thing and spoke softly, "I've watched it and watched it until it plays in my mind whenever I close my eyes. Nothing about it seems helpful to me, but if you can see anything at all in it that might help…I'd be grateful." She doubted that he'd want her gratitude, but if he could shed any useful light on this situation, he'd have it all the same.

With a nod, Snape took the copy over to a nearby table, set it down and then activated the memories once more. He leaned over the bowl and watched it straight through without comment two more times, pausing only to reactivate it when it stopped, while Minerva rose and stood nearby, watching him with anxious eyes.

His intense concentration etched itself deeply into the lines of his thin face, giving it strength and determination. Her fingers itched with the desire to reach out and brush the dark locks of falling hair back behind his ear so that she could more easily see the movement of his eyes as he followed the actions playing out in the stone bowl. The dance of firelight across his sharp cheekbones gave color to his pale face, and she found herself trying desperately to commit the picture he presented to memory, for when she could no longer see him or touch him or hear his voice.

Finally, he straightened up and turned to her. His face still looked puzzled and uncertain.

"Well? Anything?" she asked, though it seemed that the answer was obvious.

"There is something that bothers me, but I can't seem to put my finger on just what it is," he admitted reluctantly. "Hopefully, it will come to me soon."

"Yes, I hope so. The sooner the better," she whispered. It could hardly be soon enough. Time was running out. It felt very much as if she was living within an hourglass, and the falling sand was about to sweep her down through the point of no return and smother her forever.

Snape gazed at her somewhat forlorn figure and took a step closer. "I should go and talk to Albus. He needs to see this."

She caught hold of his arm and shook her head vehemently. "No. You can't do that. Albus can't know. Not until after I'm arrested. The school can't get involved in this. It will just lend credence to Ian's poor report of things here. I won't be responsible for dragging the reputation of Hogwarts through the mud. Everyone here has been through enough over the last few years. I won't make it worse. I won't!"

Snape shook his head impatiently. "Don't be a fool, Minerva. Albus could help. You know he could. If he intervened now, he might even be able to prevent you from being arrested. You need to think about yourself here."

"Nonsense," she scoffed lightly. "Once the Aurors see this evidence of murder, they'll have no choice but to arrest me. No matter how influential Albus is, he won't be able to prevent that. A man was murdered!" she exclaimed. How could he possibly think that the authorities would just ignore something like that?

"Perhaps, but it's not as if there's a body to be found to prove it," Snape scoffed.

"And who's fault is that?" she asked angrily. "Apparently mine. You watched me dispose of that man's body. Should its lack now be somehow twisted around to count in my favor? That's wrong."

Snape disagreed. "I watched someone dispose of the body. It might've been you; it might not. I saw no absolute proof one way or the other. At any rate, no one has missed Mr. Henry Grant for fifty years. Obviously, he wasn't anyone of importance. You have a sterling reputation in the community, and Albus has a lot of influence. Why shouldn't he use it in your favor? You need to protect yourself, Minerva. There should be a way out of this without you having to go to prison."

Minerva simply stared at Snape in shock. "It almost seems as if you think I was wrong not to give in to Ian's blackmail."

"No, of course not." He frowned impatiently. "Giving in to blackmail is never a smart move, but perhaps a compromise could've been worked out. Ian Standish hasn't exactly led a blameless life, himself. Surely there must be a rock or two that he wouldn't want turned over and exposed to the light of day. At the very least, if you'd told Albus or myself what was going on, we might've been able to find one of those rocks and perhaps then we'd have been able to twist this around so that that overstuffed bully didn't end up holding all the cards. If we'd intervened and been able to exert some pressure on Standish the moment he made his threats, then things might not look so grim now. As I said, Grant wasn't anyone of importance. No one should really care all that much what happened to him after fifty years."

"I care!" she exclaimed hotly. "If I murdered this man, then I need to learn the truth. I can't spend the rest of my life wondering if I committed this crime. I can't just bargain his life away as if it was nothing. It wouldn't be right."

Snape's low voice was edged with sarcasm. "Oh, no, perish the thought that you'd be practical. That you'd try to help yourself, for once. Why do you Gryffindors have to be so noble and self-sacrificing? There's no need for you to give up your life because of this man and what might or might not have happened to him. He's obviously not worth it."

Aghast at his callousness, she gasped, "How can you say that? He was an innocent human being."

"You don't know how innocent he was. You barely remember anything about him. Someone killed him. Whether it was you or not, there must have been a reason. Odds are that whatever it was, that reason wasn't very nice. No, Minerva. This is not worth losing your life over. He's not worth it, and we've got to find some way to prevent it. Albus can help. Let me go and talk to him…show him this." Snape gestured firmly towards the stone bowl.

"No! I've made up my mind about this. I'm leaving tomorrow, and Albus isn't to know anything about it until after I'm gone. He needs deniability for the school's sake, and I'm going to give it to him," Minerva exclaimed firmly.

"This is a mistake. You're being irrational." His voice rose in angry frustration.

"If so, it's my mistake to make. What difference does it make to you, anyway?"

What difference indeed? They stood frozen in place glaring hotly at each other for what seemed like an eternity, then all the anger in Snape's face suddenly drained away to be replaced with something almost like pain. "I…I don't want anything to happen to you," he admitted reluctantly.

Her heart twisted inside of her at this unexpected admission, and tears once more dimmed her sight.

"Oh," she gasped brokenly.

Moving with one mind, they were in each other's arms in an instant. The flames they'd banked with mistrust and misunderstanding burst forth again at the barest hint of their shared passion for each other.

Snape didn't simply kiss her; he consumed her. Pulling her slight form against him with hungry desperation, he held her mouth imprisoned by his own as he plundered its depths mercilessly, then finally released it, allowing her to gasp for breath as he moved on to kiss her cheeks and then shower more hot kisses down her slender throat, leaving a trail of small red marks in his wake. His hands tore her robe open impatiently so that he could continue to feast upon her delicate flesh without restraint. The garment fell unheeded to the floor with a shrug of her shoulders to send it on its way as she grasped at him with a fervor equal to his own, sliding possessive hands up the long line of his black clad back.

They followed the robe down onto the thick carpet as one, and Minerva gasped to feel his long fingers impatiently pull the straps of her thin gown off her shoulders and down the length of her body, stripping the garment off of her in a single stroke and leaving her naked beneath him. His body loomed over hers, black material draping fragile milk white skin, as his greedy eyes took in the sight that he'd waited weeks to see once more spread before him.

"Yes," he murmured in satisfaction. Carefully, he reached out and plucked the glasses from her face, softening the edges of her vision as he set them out of harm's way. Then he cradled her head gently against his shoulder with one hand as the other began to move slowly down over her body reacquainting itself with its familiar and much desired contours. Long, strong fingers gently caressed her breasts, kneading the soft, warm flesh possessively. Then slowly, his hand slid down over her stomach with a wispy touch that made her shiver.

With an air of desperation, she clung to him. Only now fully realizing just how much she'd missed his touch these last weeks. Sliding her fingers deeply into his hair, she pulled his face back to her own, where her lips could capture his once more for another deeply satisfying kiss.

"Oh, yes," she whispered softly as his lips finally left hers to burn a trail of desire down the length of her body. His mouth slid across her tingling skin to capture first one erect nipple then the other, to tease and suckle them and nip gently at the tender flesh, causing her to arch her back and press herself up against him.

The sensations that were bursting through her mind and body at his touch were almost overwhelming. The fabric of his robe felt so welcomingly cool and slick against her naked flesh, contrasting sharply with the moist warmth of his questing mouth. She'd waited for so long to feel like this again…to have this man touch her in a way that no other ever really had.

"Oh, Severus," she murmured with a soft sigh as she lay beneath him, reveling in the feeling of release that he'd given her and the weight of his body on hers. "Severus…" Gods, she'd missed this so much…missed him so much. Her fingers lovingly stroked his hair and the curve of his cheek. How she'd longed to be able to touch him again…every part of him. How was she ever going to be able to leave him now?

A satisfied smile graced his face as he raised his dark head from her body. Hearing her whisper his name once more, full of satisfaction and desire, as if only he could possibly make her feel this way, was music to his ears. He should be the only one to touch her, the only one to satisfy her, always. He'd denied that reality to himself for weeks and had only succeeded in frustrating both of them. She was his, whether she admitted that or not, and somehow he had to find a way to keep her safe, to keep her with him. Slowly, he ran a possessive hand up the length of her torso while he moved to look down into her lightly flushed face.

As he loomed over her, she reached up and pulled his body down, full length against her own. The touch of his robes felt so delicious against her moist skin, the long row of buttons pressed their imprints into her body. With a mischievous smile, she pushed against him, turning him over onto his back so that she could straddle his body and look down at him smugly. It simply wasn't fair that she should lie here naked while he remained fully clothed. She really had to do something about that.

Without ever breaking eye contact, she slid his thin academic robe off of his shoulders to lay spread beneath them like a ground cover for an afternoon idle. Then slowly, one by one, she began to undo the buttons of his frock coat, caressing each one as she slowly pushed it back through its hole and reached for the next while at the same time, rubbing her body rhythmically against his, inflaming his desire and his impatience. His long fingers gripped her thighs tightly in response to her movements, and his breath began to come in shallow, harsh gasps.

Finally, she finished unbuttoning the coat, and with his assistance, discarded it as well. Then she did the same with the buttons of his shirt, one by one, in a smooth mesmerizing rhythm, leaning down to place soft kisses along the flesh of his chest as soon as each button gave way, revealing a new spot for her eager mouth. Once the shirt joined the coat to one side, she lowered her head again to kiss, suck, and tease the flat nipples of his chest with her teeth as her hands caressed him gently to his accompanying moans.

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Much later, Minerva lay quietly in her bed and listened to the regular easy rhythm of his breathing, marveling to herself that he'd wanted to stay. Throughout the course of their arrangement, that had been the one unspoken rule. Sex, whenever and wherever it was mutually desired, but when they retired for the night, they'd each do so in the privacy of their own rooms. Somehow, the intimacy of actually sleeping in the same bed together had perhaps seemed too close to the relationship that neither of them professed to want.

Now, as she lay there in the silent darkness and watched the sliver of moonlight that had snuck through the heavy draperies as it outlined his quiet form in silver, she knew for certain that all that had changed for her.

The mirror had shown her the truth, though deep within her she'd still harbored a shred of doubt, but now as she lay beside his warm body and watched him sleep, she could deny it no longer. She'd come to care for him far, far too much.

Perhaps, in a way, it was fortunate that she'd be forced to leave him tomorrow. This way she wouldn't be required to spend the next endless span of time pretending that she had no deep feelings, where in truth she loved, for perhaps the first time in her life.

There was no future in it, though. No miracle that would make him love her in return, and it hardly mattered anyway, since it appeared that she had no real future anymore. It was best to keep silent and take what pleasure she could from his presence here with her now. She had to make the strongest memories that she could to take with her into hell. With luck, they'd help to carry her through what would undoubtedly be the worst ordeal of her life.

With a sad smile on her face, she shifted subtly closer to his body. Not quite close enough to touch and possibly disturb, but well within his sphere of warmth. Then she closed her eyes and vowed that whatever the morning brought, it would include one more coupling, one more embrace within his arms. Somehow, she'd make certain of that if nothing else.

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**Next Chapter: **Though Severus tries his best to change her mind, Minerva is determined to leave Hogwarts as soon as possible.


	27. Leave Taking

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Seven: Leave Taking**

When Minerva opened her eyes once more, a very thin line of faint gray light was peeking through the draperies in place of the moonlight that had been there when she'd closed them. It was still quite early; the sun had barely crested the horizon. Not that you could see it behind the heavy layer of dense gray clouds that covered the sky from end to end and threatened to drop snow at any moment, but the day was clearly beginning and far too soon it would be time for her to go. A pang of sadness filled her heart at that thought, and she turned to look at her lover.

Severus was still asleep beside her. A smile crossed her lips as she felt his warm breath lightly caress her naked shoulder. His face looked so young and so peaceful in repose. Far too young to be sleeping with someone as old as she was. At times like these, when life reminded her firmly of the boy she once taught, she marveled that he could even see her as a sexually attractive being. Why would someone so young and vigorous want to waste his energy on an old lady like her? She could only shake her head in puzzlement and be grateful that it seemed to be so. He'd given her so much more than he realized, and she was going to miss him so very much.

More than any other person she cared about, she worried about him and hoped that he had a good long life still to live before him, but sadly, she knew that the dangerous web that he spent his life ensnared in made that more doubtful than it should be. It was going to be so hard to say goodbye to him today, but it was for the best.

If she stayed, the problems it would cause for everyone she loved would be endless, but especially for him. He simply could not be seen to defend her as he might wish, it would only compromise his position and his safety, and that must never be allowed to happen because of her. And she knew that having to pretend that he didn't care about her, didn't want to defend her, would be very hard on him to do. It would be better all around if he was never put in such an awkward position

Though she knew in her heart that she had no choice but to leave, she was still determined that last night, as wonderful as it had been, would not be her final time with Severus. With a smile on her lips, she rolled over against him, savoring the warmth of his skin against hers, and drew her hand lightly down his chest and low across his hips, slowly letting her nimble fingers tease him to attention and bring him back from the arms of Morpheus and into hers again. Once she had him moaning softly and coming to his arousal beneath her touch, she threw back the confining covers and straddled his hips. Ever so slowly, she lowered her body onto his, relishing the feeling of enveloping him bit by bit. Letting him fill her body with his, as his presence had so gradually filled her soul.

When she sat firmly atop him, she began to slowly withdraw and then return, up and down, sliding her flesh against his, slick and hot. First gently, then harder, faster, squeezing and releasing internally, forcing further low moans from his throat and bringing his body up off the sheets to eagerly meet her own.

Then without warning, he grasped her hips tightly in his strong hands and flipped her over onto her back without ever leaving the warm sheath of her body. Once successfully repositioned, he began thrusting harder and faster into her with a smile of smug satisfaction on his lips.

"It's always a contest of wills with us, Minerva," he gasped in a low intense tone. "This time I intend to have the upper hand, if you don't mind."

In response, she wrapped her legs firmly around his hips and let his strong steady rhythm continue to send her soaring as she matched his every thrust with one of her own.

"I don't mind at all, Severus. In fact, at the moment, I can't think how I'd ever want anything else," she managed to gasp out in return before she lost herself in the entwining sensations of desire and fulfillment that he inspired.

When he lay panting with release and exhaustion atop of her, she wrapped her arms tightly around his body and buried her face in his tousled hair. Somehow, she needed to burn this memory into her mind like an indelible brand so that no one could ever take it from her. The fragility of experience scared her. In the blink of an eye, you could lose a part of yourself and never know it existed. Somehow, she had to prevent that from ever happening to her again.

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Snape followed her around the sitting room, buttoning the cuffs of his coat and arguing vociferously.

"How many times do I have to point out the stupidity of your actions, Minerva?" His voice was drowning in exasperation, his tone clipped and sharp.

"As many times as you wish, Severus," she retorted as she slammed shut one of her trunks and turned her wand on a second bookcase. Calmly, she shrunk the contents of the shelves and watched as they packed themselves neatly into a second trunk at her feet.

Once this trunk was also full, she closed its lid as well and turned to face the glowering Potions master. "You are free, after all, to express your opinions as loudly and as frequently as you wish. I would never dream of stopping you. It's entirely up to you how much effort you're willing to expend on a fruitless task. Because I assure you, if your task is to get me to change my mind, it is indeed fruitless. Your arguments are falling on deaf ears. My mind is made up. I'm leaving, and that is that. You might as well accept it."

Furious at her stubborn resolve, Snape reached out and seized her by the arms, pulling her towards him. The look of pain that crossed her face when he did that, caused him to immediately regret his actions. He'd seen the rows of bruises on her naked arms, all put there by the harsh treatment of that odious cretin Ian Standish, and here he was doing exactly the same thing. Awkwardly, he dropped his hands away from her as quickly as he could; though he couldn't quite bring himself to say the words of regret, he could tell from the expression on her face that she understood.

Carefully, she laid a gentle hand on the front of his chest and looked up at him sincerely, hoping to finally make him understand. "I have to go, Severus. The die is cast. I've delayed too long as it is. Please, respect my wishes on this."

He stared down into her earnest, pleading eyes and sighed. "I'd rather save your life," he said quietly.

With a sigh of her own, she shook her head. "You don't know that my staying here would do that. The only thing I know for certain that would happen if I stay here is that Hogwarts' reputation would be dragged through the mud along with my own. If I leave, there's at least a chance to avoid that outcome. It's important to me that I not be responsible for any more pain being experienced by the people who live here. I'm sorry that I can't make you understand my position on this, but regardless, I am leaving…now. I really should've left last night."

Anger and frustration warred across his face, and he turned away from her to avoid responding. Minerva McGonagall was the most stubborn, the most frustrating, the most aggravating creature on the face of the earth, but the thought of her leaving…of most likely ending up in Azkaban sent cold shivers straight down into his soul.

Swiftly, she turned away from him as well. She'd lingered far too long here. A wave of shame engulfed her as she thought back to her behavior of the evening before. How had she ever allowed herself to give in to self-pity and misery so completely? She'd thought she was stronger than that, but apparently not.

She really should've been out of here last night. If she hadn't been so weak, if she hadn't allowed herself to wallow in drunken misery followed by grabbing as much sex as she could while the opportunity was hers, she'd have been long gone, and she wouldn't now have to argue her case over and over with Severus, who, she sometimes swore, lived for the sheer pleasure of arguing.

A final assessing glance around her sitting room showed her that everything that needed to be dealt with here had now been taken care of. All the personal belongings that she valued were snuggly packed into the two sturdy iron bound trunks that stood next to the wall, waiting to be taken away.

Leaving Severus behind, she moved purposely across the room and entered her bedroom once more. Pausing just inside the doorway, she looked around the room carefully. Most everything was packed up here as well. She bent and picked up her crumpled robe from the floor where it had fallen unnoticed sometime last night, and folding it impatiently over her arms, she laid it on top of the final trunk that stood beside the now empty wardrobe. Then she closed this one tightly, too. That should be that.

Three trunks full of possessions. Her entire life's worth of belongings had been reduced to three trunks full of possessions. Nothing else that remained in her rooms was of any importance. Most of the furnishings had come with the rooms when they'd been given to her so many years ago, and what other pieces she'd added on her own, such as her desk, could stay for the room's next occupant to make use of. She'd hardly need them where she was going anyway.

Much the same could be said for the rest of her possessions as well, of course. She wouldn't be allowed to keep her books and treasures. Not even her clothes would be allowed in Azkaban, but she could hardly leave them here. And this allowed her to keep the fiction alive in her mind for just a little while longer that she was leaving here to go home instead of to prison.

When she turned around from a final perusal of her bedroom, she found Snape watching her quietly from the doorway. He'd donned his robe and now appeared as he always did, enveloped in blackness, buttoned up to the hilt. Slowly she approached him, and they stood face to face without saying a word. Then she reached out her hands and laid them lightly on either side of his thin face. His skin felt cool to the touch, pulled tight over angular cheekbones, and slightly bristly where he'd probably missed a few whiskers in his haste to rid himself of them while arguing with her at the same time.

They stared at each other for a long silent moment, then he opened his mouth to speak, but she shook her head and whispered, "No, no more argument, Severus. Please."

So instead, he reached out and gently pulled her against him, and the two of them simply stood there holding on to each other without speaking. Minerva snuggled her face deeply into his robes and inhaled the unique scent of him as she enjoyed the warmth of his arms around her and the feeling of his face pressed against her hair. Moments lengthened, and intertwined, and spun themselves out until somehow Minerva found the strength within her to wrench herself out of his arms for the last time.

"I have to go. It's already gotten far too late. People will be at breakfast by now," she stated quietly.

Snape merely nodded. There simply didn't seem to be anything else he could say that would be of the slightest use. Obviously, he couldn't stop her leaving by anything short of taking her prisoner, and though the thought had its appeal, he knew it was nothing but a fantasy. She was leaving. She was plainly determined, and she had that right. He was only wasting his time and his breath to continue the argument. Instead, he should escort her to the door, see her safely on her way, and go directly to Albus, hoping that somehow there would still be something that he could do to halt things before they went too far.

Minerva moved briskly across the room towards the door, nervously smoothing her hair back into place and running her eyes over her rooms for a final time.

"Will you do me a favor, Severus?" she asked.

He nodded. "If I can."

"Please, have my things sent after me to my home. I'd rather not be burdened by them now, or take the time it would take to arrange for them to be sent. I'd appreciate it."

"Very well. I'll take care of it once you've…gone," he said, hesitating only slightly.

"Thank you." She smiled up at him gratefully.

Then, before she could find another reason to delay any further, she opened the door and went out into the corridor. Snape followed after her, and the two of them moved off down the corridor together in somewhat uncomfortable silence.

Despite Minerva's concern that she'd delayed far too long, the castle was still very quiet at this early hour. The biggest rush of students heading towards the Great Hall for breakfast would probably not occur for at least ten minutes. Which should leave her plenty of time to get away unseen, she hoped.

Once they'd moved to the main staircase and started down without running into anyone other than a few stray cats, Minerva also began to feel better about Severus accompanying her. She didn't want anyone to be wondering why he'd have been visiting her rooms at such an early hour and to possibly come to the conclusion that he'd actually come for a visit the night before. The last thing he needed now was for someone to begin to suspect a relationship between them. Her reputation would soon be tattered beyond repair; there was no need to compromise his as well.

As they started down the last flight of stairs, Snape finally broke the silence that had fallen between them.

"It's not too late to change your mind, you know. We can turn right around and head up to Albus' office immediately."

Minerva sighed and then shot the Potions master a sharp glance. "And what do you plan to tell him when he asks you why we didn't come to him last night?"

Snape shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. "I'll just tell him that you were insatiable, and I couldn't get to my clothes."

Abruptly, Minerva stopped halfway down the staircase and simply stared at him with an incredulous expression on her face for a moment before bursting into laughter. Just the thought of the look on Albus' face if Severus ever said anything of the kind to him was enough to keep her smiling to herself for weeks. Never did she think she'd laugh at anything again. Thank goodness, she was wrong. Gratefully, she clutched at Snape's arm and smiled up at him. "Thank you for that, Severus. Thank you."

"You're still determined to leave though, aren't you?" he asked as she released him and continued down the stairs towards the entrance hall, and he followed along.

"Yes, you know that I am. Please, let's just not talk about this anymore."

They reached the ground floor together and Minerva headed for the closet to retrieve her cloak. Grumbling under his breath about stubborn, foolhardy Gryffindor females, Snape continued to trail after her and stood glowering darkly with his arms crossed as she removed her cloak from the closet and spread it across her shoulders.

Suddenly, there came a loud knocking on the front door to the castle. Minerva's head snapped up, and she turned towards the sound with a gasp. Oh, no. Was she already too late? Another five minutes and she'd have been gone. Surely, it couldn't be the Aurors. Not now. Would fate really be that cruel? Foolish question. Fate hadn't exactly been showing her any partiality lately.

Both Snape and McGonagall stood frozen in place without moving. They both looked nowhere but at the door, but at the same time, neither was able to take a step forward to go and open it.

Argus Filch came stomping across the entrance hall, glaring daggers at the two of them as he went and muttering under his breath about the high and mighty who obviously thought themselves too good to answer the damned door. After all, what was he here for if not to perform all the menial tasks for those whose magical abilities set them above common folk like squibs?

Still glaring angrily at the two professors, he hauled open the door and then turned to snap at the two large figures that filled the open doorway.

"Yes? What do you want at this time of the morning? Most visitors come at a sane hour."

A loud voice echoed around the hall. "We're looking for Minerva McGonagall."

The sound of her name spurred Minerva into action. Swiftly, she withdrew her wand from her pocket and pressed it into Snape's hand. "Please, keep this for me, Severus. They'll only destroy it, and I…well, it's always been an especially good one. I'm sure that you could make use of it somehow if I don't return."

Snape frowned at the unpleasant thought that she might leave permanently, but instead of commenting, he simply nodded and glanced at the wand briefly before sliding it into his pocket. After he did that, Minerva smiled once more at him and squeezed his arm gently, then she turned away from him towards the two men who had already forced their way past Filch and into the entrance hall. They glanced around swiftly and when their eyes lit on her, one of them pointed accusingly and stated, "Minerva McGonagall, in the name of the Ministry of Magic, I place you under arrest for the crime of murder. Don't try to resist us, it will only make it worse for you."

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva leaves Hogwarts.


	28. Come Along Quietly, And No One Else Will...

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Eight: Come Along Quietly, and No One Else Will Be Hurt**

Minerva drew herself up to her full height and walked as calmly as possible towards the two men by the door.

"There's no need to make a scene. I fully intend to go with you quietly and willingly," she asserted in a firm voice.

"Really?" The taller of the two Aurors sneered. "It looks to me as if you were getting ready to skip out. We were warned that you probably knew we were coming for you, and that you might try to escape us. Seems as if we arrived just in time."

Minerva nodded in agreement but attempted to reassure them. "I was leaving the school, but I was only going as far as my home. You'd have found me there had you come a bit later."

The short, beefy Auror shook his head in disbelief and asserted sarcastically, "Sure, you say that now that we caught you, but in my experience, if you give criminals a chance, they always run, and they always lie about it. You just didn't get the chance."

"Nonsense," Minerva snapped sharply. "I am not a criminal, and if I'd wished to run off, I've had plenty of time to do it."

By this time, she'd come up beside the two men, and the shorter one reached out and seized her roughly by the arm to assert his control over the situation. "No one admits to being a criminal, lady, so it doesn't really matter what you say. We'll let other people sort out your lies. You can give your excuses to the magistrates, that's what they're there for anyway. We're just here to take you to Azkaban to await trial. Now, hand over your wand."

To Minerva's dismay, the entrance hall was beginning to fill up with gawking students and staff who were all quite alarmed and disconcerted to discover their Deputy Headmistress being arrested. All her hopes of preventing just this very scene from occurring had been dashed spectacularly. She noticed that Filch was now standing to one side looking as if someone had just handed him a particularly tasty sweet and was watching the goings on with amazed and excited eyes.

Minerva sighed. Why did she think that this was only going to get worse? "I don't have my wand on me," she said.

The Aurors exchanged knowing glances. Then the tall one sneered into her face as she looked up at him. "Being an obstructionist isn't going to help your case, Professor." He sneered at her title. "Now, hand over the wand." As he spoke, the shorter one shook her sharply.

"I do not have my wand on me. You can search me if you must, but you won't find it," she asserted firmly, grimacing as the shaking snapped her neck painfully.

"That's enough talking back from you!" the shorter Auror sneered.

Then without warning the short Auror shoved her roughly back into the taller Auror's arms, who grabbed her firmly and yanked her arms back behind her, holding her tightly as the shorter man began to run his hands down over her body. "We don't need your permission to search you if you won't cooperate, Professor. So we'll just have to check for ourselves, I guess." he said with a slight smirk as she shivered at the nasty gleam in his eye.

"Leave her alone!"

Suddenly, a young irate voice came from the direction of the dining hall. Everyone in the entry hall turned to look as Harry Potter came sprinting out of the doorway towards the Aurors who were abusing his Head of House. His usual sidekicks were backing him up.

Minerva's heart began to race horridly. The last thing she needed or wanted was for any of her students to get involved in this debacle…especially not Harry. It could only lead to more trouble.

Pulling against her captor in her frustration, she turned towards her approaching student and called out to him with a firm voice. "Harry, no! Stay out of this. It's not your concern."

Harry came to a stop a few feet from the suddenly defensive Aurors and Minerva. Ron and Hermione came up to stand on either side of him. All three frowned angrily at the bullying officials who glared back and fingered their wands nervously, stopping just short of actually drawing them on the students.

Snape began to move across the entrance hall. Obviously, he was going to have to get involved before Potter made everything worse than it already was. His insides were trembling with fury at having to watch those idiots treat Minerva so roughly without being able to stop them, but standing in the doorway to the Great Hall, with a huge smile on his face, was Draco Malfoy. The young Slytherin's eyes glittered malevolently, and he kept smirking at Snape as if he was sure that they were sharing some delicious joke. If the Potions master could've killed the insufferable brat where he stood, he would've done it without a moment's thought, but instead he could do nothing except walk the ever thinner tightrope that was his role in this convoluted life he led.

The shorter Auror glared at Harry and said, "Listen to the old lady, kid. This is none of your affair. You don't want to end up getting yourself arrested for interfering in an official Ministry investigation."

"You have no right to barge in here and treat Professor McGonagall like that!" exclaimed Harry hotly.

"Yeah, kid, we do. We're official representatives of the Ministry of Magic. We're just performing our job here by arresting this criminal according to the law. If you know what's good for you, you'll simply stay out of it," the Auror shot back.

Harry began to look around for someone else to appeal to. He hoped to see Professor Dumbledore, or maybe Professor Flitwick, but unfortunately, the only authority figure he saw nearby, was Professor Snape. Not his first choice under any circumstances, but hopefully better than nothing. Angrily, the young man stepped up to Snape and began to plead with him to intervene.

"You have to stop this, Professor. You can't just let them treat Professor McGonagall this way. She couldn't have murdered anyone. You know she couldn't!" He stared accusingly at Snape, daring him to argue.

Snape directed a dark frown down at Harry, while inside his heart was pounding furiously with his own suppressed anger.

"Quiet, boy. This is none of your concern," he snapped sharply. Then before Harry could retort, he turned to the Aurors, who had now stripped off Minerva's cloak, and were searching her even more thoroughly, still looking for the wand that resided securely within his own pocket and addressed them in as calm a voice as he could manage.

"You know, I was under the impression that prisoners, who were only under the suspicion of committing a crime, were no longer held in Azkaban, but instead were held in the holding cells at the Ministry until trial."

The shorter Auror tore his eyes away from his searching of the prisoner and considered Snape calmly.

"Well, this is a bit more serious, isn't it? This is murder, and Acting Minister of Magic Gallagher ordered us to take her directly to Azkaban Fortress. We weren't to be according her any special treatment just because she works here. So that's what we're going to do. The evidence against her is very strong, and her incarceration is being pushed through from the highest levels of power. We don't argue with that, and you'd be smart not to argue with it either."

Before Snape could say anything further, Harry grabbed him by the arm and yelled, "Help her, Professor."

Snape shook Harry off his arm and hissed, "Mind your manners, Potter. This is none of your concern."

"You want her gone, don't you? You hate her!" Harry exclaimed angrily, allowing his instinctive dislike of Snape to override his better judgment. "That's why you won't help her. Well, if you won't do anything, then I will."

Snape felt as if Harry had struck him. Hate her? If the brat only knew…

Harry stuck his hand in his pocket to pull out his wand and tried to take a step towards McGonagall and the Aurors, but before he could follow through with it and possibly get himself arrested as well, Snape seized his arm firmly and hauled him back. "Fifty points from Gryffindor for your insolence, Potter, and if you don't get a hold of yourself this instant, I'll make it one hundred."

Damn you, Potter, you arrogant twit, he thought desperately, this isn't helping her. Can't you see that you're just making things worse? Stupid boy.

Snape raised his eyes to Minerva and found her looking back at him with understanding. Her voice cut through the hubbub of muttering that now filled the hall and reduced it to silence. "Harry, listen to Professor Snape. This isn't your fight, young man, and if you don't step back and behave right now, I'll take additional points away from you." Even though I no longer have the right, she realized with a sudden pang.

Harry gaped at her but ceased struggling with Snape and stood by sullenly instead.

Determinedly, Minerva turned back to the Aurors with exasperation in her voice. "This has gone far enough. I'm not resisting going with you so there's no reason to prolong this any further. I do not have my wand on me so you'll just have to accept that and take me as is. After all, it's me you're here for, isn't it, not my wand?"

The short Auror turned to his taller companion, who shrugged and stated reasonably, "She doesn't have it on her or you'd have found it."

Frowning determinedly, the shorter Auror, who seemed to be the one in charge, then turned back to Minerva and stated firmly, "All right. If that's the way it's going to be… Minerva McGonagall, in the name of the Ministry of Magic, I hereby formally charge you with the murder of Henry Grant." Then he produced a pair of iron handcuffs, which he handed to his companion, who placed them on Minerva's slender wrists and closed them tightly, binding her arms securely behind her back.

This action raised another uproar from the watching crowd. Several students protested that they shouldn't be doing that, and Irma Pince and Pomona Sprout, having come out of the Great Hall to see what was going on, both started forward to Minerva's defense, exclaiming that that sort of treatment of their colleague was hardly necessary.

Becoming alarmed as the watching crowd suddenly surged towards them, both Aurors pulled out their wands and aimed them at those heading their way while pulling Minerva viciously back and shoving her roughly up against the wall behind them.

Suddenly, a voice rang out strongly over the noise and confusion of the hall and every face there turned upward to stare at the impressive figure of Albus Dumbledore standing halfway up the main staircase with a thunderous expression on his face.

"Quiet!" exclaimed the Headmaster.

Once he had their undivided attention, he addressed the crowd of students that lingered in the entry and in the doorway to the Great Hall.

"All students are to take their places at their respective tables immediately. None of this concerns any of you. Now go."

Reluctantly, all the students turned away from the excitement and began to file off into the Great Hall to have their breakfast, casting final fascinated glances behind them as they went. All except Harry, who yanked his arm angrily from the Potions master's grasp with a final murderous glare for his hated teacher and turned to address the Headmaster fervently.

"Professor Dumbledore, you can't just let them arrest Professor McGonagall. It isn't right."

Dumbledore had now descended to the ground floor and addressed Harry sternly. "This isn't any of your concern, Harry. I know that you're worried about your Head of House, but this is my responsibility, and I will take care of it. Now, please join your classmates in the Great Hall. I'll address everyone shortly. In the meantime, go and begin your breakfast."

As Harry hesitated, the Headmaster added more kindly, "It'll be all right, Harry, now please go."

Still obviously reluctant to leave, Harry shot a worried glance at Professor McGonagall, followed by one full of loathing at Professor Snape, and then he stomped over to the entrance to the Great Hall where Ron and Hermione lingered, waiting for him. Once all the students had disappeared into the hall, Dumbledore nodded to Professor Sprout, who reluctantly followed the students inside and closed the doors behind her.

That left Irma Pince, Argus Filch and Severus Snape as the only witnesses in the hall. The three of them congregated behind their leader facing the Aurors and their prisoner. Filch had sobered his eager expression upon the appearance of the Headmaster, but his eyes still gleamed avidly as he moved behind the professors and the librarian and simply continued to watch expectantly. This was certainly more excitement than he'd come across recently, and sure beat the heck out of fixing the blocked plumbing in the fifth floor Prefect's bathroom, which was what was on his schedule for the morning.

Irma was beside herself with fear for her friend. Now she understood what Minerva had meant when she'd spoken of having to leave Hogwarts and possibly not being able to return. Obviously, she'd known that she was about to be arrested and hadn't wanted to burden Irma with the knowledge. Though it was certainly some sort of mistake on someone's part. Minerva would never murder anyone, after all. Hopefully, the Headmaster would be able to straighten everything out quickly. Irma directed her expectant gaze on Dumbledore, hoping fervently that he could once more pull a rabbit from his hat as the Muggles say and prevent these horrid men from taking Minerva to Azkaban. The librarian shivered at the thought of her friend ending up in such awful surroundings.

Snape stood behind his Headmaster and tried to keep his face impassive, though he could feel the conflicting emotions churning around inside him as he looked at his lover's pale, worried face. This was all such an unnecessary waste. Things should never have been allowed to go this far. Why did Gryffindors insist on following the rules to their own detriment? Such nobility of spirit was a total waste of time if they ended up losing their lives in the end without accomplishing anything in the process. If she'd only told him what was going on sooner.

But would it really have made any difference? He shivered involuntarily. What could he have truly done? Standish looked upon him as an ally, a relationship that he'd encouraged. It would have been very difficult to have openly defied the man. If he'd come to Minerva's defense against the Dark Lord's wishes, he'd have ended up in far worse straits than she was in now. So would it have really helped for her to have confided in him? Grimly, he admitted to himself that perhaps it wouldn't have mattered, but confiding in Albus was another matter altogether. Standish was obviously relying on his ties with the Wizengemot to influence this whole proceeding. Well, Albus' ties were even stronger, his power greater. He might have been able to deflect all of this before it ever got to the point of her being arrested.

If she hadn't been so stubbornly set on protecting everyone at Hogwarts, she'd have seen the sense of that course of action herself, but as usual with Gryffindors, they never saw the trees because they were too busy looking out for the whole damn forest. Thinking of herself, instead of the greater good of the many, was something that Minerva was simply incapable of.

Hopefully, it wasn't too late. Hopefully, Albus could still stop this travesty before it went too far, before Minerva ended up being sacrificed to the nasty, selfish revenge of her buffoon of an ex-husband.

"Now," exclaimed Dumbledore calmly as he approached the Aurors who had pocketed their wands with the disappearance of the threatening crowd and were calmly facing the few people who were left with slightly wary eyes. "What is this all about?"

The shorter Auror shot a slightly nervous glance at his companion, who tightened his grip on Minerva again, and then stepped forward to face the Headmaster. He withdrew a roll of parchment affixed with an impressive official looking seal from an inner pocket and handed it to Dumbledore. "We're here by order of the Acting Minister of Magic to arrest Minerva McGonagall for the murder of a wizard named Henry Grant. The charges are all spelled out in this arrest decree if you want to read it."

Dumbledore took the roll of parchment without comment and opened it up. Then he stood there and read it over carefully while all of them watched him quietly. Finally, he raised his head and looked sadly at Minerva. She dropped her eyes away from his gaze and began to stare at the floor. This wasn't the way that she'd wanted him to find out about this. How disappointed in her he must be now.

"Surely this could have been handled in a more civilized manner. There was no need for the two of you to force your way in here and abuse my professor as you were arresting her." Dumbledore's voice was calm but sharp edged.

The short Auror bristled. "We didn't force our way in here, we knocked on the door and he let us in." He pointed accusingly at Filch, who shrugged and hastened to reassure his employer.

"That's true, Headmaster. I had no way o' knowing what they wanted, now did I?" Filch explained.

The Auror nodded firmly and continued, "And we were well within our rights to be firm with the prisoner if she put up any resistance, which she did. So don't think you can go getting any of these here charges dropped because we didn't adhere to procedures, because we were very careful to follow the rules. If you have any problems with this, you can take it up with the Ministry of Magic and Madam Bones herself, as she's the one who drafted the decree. Now, we'll be going, and we'll be taking our prisoner with us."

Minerva spoke up suddenly as the tall Auror tightened his grip on her arm and began to pull her towards the door. "I'm sorry, Albus. This should never have happened. I was hoping to be gone before any of this could occur. Please, forgive me for all this disruption."

Dumbledore shook his head. "It's not your fault, Minerva. Don't worry, I'm sure that we can get all this straightened out in no time."

She took a slightly shaky breath and nodded, not believing a word of it. There really wasn't any point in telling him differently though, she thought guiltily to herself. He'd find out the truth of things soon enough on his own anyway.

As the Aurors opened the door to the castle to leave with their prisoner, a blast of cold air swept in to make everyone inside shiver instinctively. Before she was dragged out of the castle for what could be her last time, Minerva found her eyes seeking out those of Severus for one last bit of connection to take with her into the unknown future that faced her now. The bleakness of his expression as he stared back at her brought tears to her eyes as the door closed behind her, shutting out her happy life, perhaps forever.

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**Next Chapter:** Azkaban.


	29. Out of the Frying Pan

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Twenty Nine: Out of the Frying Pan…**

As the massive door closed behind Minerva and the Aurors, Dumbledore turned back to his stunned staff. His eyes skimmed over their faces quickly, assessing much. Filch was quite excited and not doing a very good job of hiding it. There was a part of Filch that always longed to see those he grudgingly considered his masters to be brought low. Though Dumbledore didn't believe that the man would actively seek to have harm come to anyone here within the castle, if harm came knocking all on its own, he wouldn't mind one bit opening the door and watching from the sidelines. Best to deal with him first.

"Argus. If you have duties that you need to attend to, it would probably be best if you got to them. I don't think there'll be anything else happening here at the moment."

Filch nodded with an air of disappointment. "Aye, Headmaster. I probably should be getting up to the Prefect's bath. I never did think that I'd be better off with my lot than with Professor McGonagall's, but I'd rather be mucking out the plumbing for days than be headed to where she's going right now. Yes, I would." He nodded to Dumbledore and Snape with some satisfaction, ignored the librarian, then turned around and headed off up the staircase.

Dumbledore then turned to Snape and Pince. Irma Pince looked severely stricken, and was twisting her hands together and staring at him with a rather dazed expression on her face. Snape on the other hand, though obviously upset, did not look surprised. In fact, if anything, he looked slightly guilty. If he had to guess, the Headmaster would have to assume that Minerva's arrest wasn't as much of a surprise to him as it was to the rest of them. Perhaps he'd learned something of this last night, but if so, why on earth hadn't he come and told him about it?

Irma suddenly clutched at the elder wizard's sleeve. "Headmaster, what are we going to do? We can't just let them throw Minerva into prison. She'll never survive in that horrible place. You have to do something. This has to be some huge misunderstanding. Minerva would never murder anyone! You know that!"

Dumbledore patted Madam Pince's hand reassuringly. "There, there, Irma. I'm sure that you're right. Probably, this is all just a mistake. As soon as I've spoken to the school and reassured them, I will contact Amelia Bones and find out what's really going on. We'll get Minerva out of there as soon as we can. I promise."

The scared librarian nodded; firmly convinced that Dumbledore could do anything that he said he could. Things would be okay. They just had to be.

"Now, you go on in to breakfast, and I'll be in, in a moment." He gave her a reassuring smile.

Irma nodded again and tried a weak smile in return, but it wasn't a very successful effort. "All right, if you say so."

Still feeling somewhat dazed and uneasy, she nevertheless did as she was told and turned away from Dumbledore to cross the entryway and open the door to the Great Hall; then reluctantly, she slipped through it with a final quick, nervous glance back at the two men who remained behind in the vestibule.

As soon as the door closed behind the librarian, Dumbledore turned his sharp gaze on his Potions master who stood quietly, simply waiting for his interrogation to begin.

"You knew that was going to happen, didn't you, Severus." It was more of a statement than a question.

Reluctantly, Snape nodded. "Minerva hoped that she'd be able to slip away from the school before they came for her, but she wasn't successful in her attempt…obviously." Mostly because of me, he admitted to himself with an uncomfortable twinge of guilt.

"Why didn't one of you come to me? I should've been informed long before things got to this point."

Snape nodded his agreement. "I know, Headmaster. I only found out the truth last night, after we spoke. I wanted to tell you. I spent most of last night trying to persuade Minerva that telling you what was going on would be the wisest course of action she could take, but she refused to listen to me. There is no more stubborn creature on the face of the earth than Minerva McGonagall once she's made up her mind about something." Snape's face registered his disgust at his lack of success at convincing her to act sensibly.

Dumbledore nodded shortly and sighed. "Very well. Once I talk to the school, I'll go and speak to Amelia and get her version of what's going on, though I imagine I'll discover that it concerns Ian Standish in some way."

Snape's expression darkened, and he nodded. "Yes. I'm afraid it does."

"After you eat your own breakfast, Severus, you will join me in my office. Obviously, you know Minerva's side of things, and I'll need to know what that is before I can decide how best to act."

"Yes, Headmaster. I'll tell you everything I know."

"Very well. Now, let us go in and project a united front to reassure the students."

Dumbledore turned away and crossed to the doors that led into the Great Hall. With a swift movement of his hand, the heavy wooden panels flew open before him, and he swept into the hall with the dark figure of the Potions master dogging his steps and knowing full well that the very last thing he could ever do at the moment, was sit quietly and eat his breakfast as if nothing had happened. As if she wasn't gone.

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Minerva huddled in the corner of a cramped boat cabin and tried to ignore the horrific effect that the rolling swells beneath her were having on her empty stomach, though she imagined that it would be worse if she'd actually managed to eat anything this morning.

Once the Aurors had hustled her out of Hogwarts, they'd shoved her down across the lawn and then one of them had produced a ratty old sock from an inner pocket and had draped it over her shoulder and down across her upper chest while both he and his partner placed their hands on it and smirked at her. After what seemed like an appalling length of time to have to stand there in the freezing cold without a cloak and with these men's hands resting, however sedately, on her bosom, the portkey finally activated, and she suddenly found herself standing on a square platform in the middle of the North Sea with nothing to see in any direction but churning water and a smallish boat tied up to the side of the platform.

The Aurors had shoved her onboard the boat and not bothered to help her up when she stumbled as the boat pitched to the side. She'd fallen on her left hip, hitting the side of her face against the rough planks of the deck and wrenching her shoulder rather painfully. Her escorts had laughed and let her lie there while they spoke to the three rather disreputable looking men who inhabited the boat.

"This here's Minerva McGonagall…murderess. They're expecting her at the island. All the information's already gone ahead of her. I doubt if she'll give you much trouble."

One of the men nodded and looked down at her with a big toothy grin. "Yeah, they been lookin' forward to this one comin'. Ain't got any woman prisoners anymore, you know. Plus, I think Andy had the old biddy in school. Thought it would be great fun to see her again."

All the men had chuckled nastily and leered down at Minerva, who'd curled up as best she could and looked away from them all, shivering uncontrollably in the intense cold. At this point, they'd picked her up off of the deck and thrust her into the back of the small cabin, which blessedly had a warming charm cast on it; then it had been but a matter of moments before the Aurors had stepped back onto the platform and, with a stiff salute, had vanished, and the boat had cast off and headed out into the choppy waves.

The trip from the platform out to Azkaban Fortress was only a matter of about a quarter of an hour, and the time flew by far too fast. Minerva had made the trip once before, many years ago, but that had seemed very different indeed. She'd accompanied Albus out to the prison to speak to a Death Eater who was being held there, early in Voldemort's first reign of terror. The dementors were still there then, and their distressing influence had been obvious even at quite a distance from the prison itself.

Now, as she squinted towards the distant horizon and began to watch the forbidding fortress thrust itself up out of the steel gray sea, she felt a smothering hopelessness descend on her once more, but this time she knew that it came from deep within herself, not from any outside source. Never, when she'd made that first trip to this forsaken place, did it ever occur to her that she might return someday as a prisoner. How had she ever come to this?

Before long, the boat moved inside a huge cavern that opened into the side of the sheer cliffs that ringed the island. Minerva watched forlornly as, after they'd cruised inside the torch lit chamber, immense metal doors slid into place behind them, blocking out the meager daylight and casting her into a twilight hell.

Once the boat had stopped and been secured to its mooring, one of the men grasped her by the arm and hauled her to her feet.

"Welcome to your new home, my lady. I certainly hope you enjoy your stay here with us." The tall gaunt man grinned toothily down at her and laughed maliciously. "We're all going to enjoy having you, that's for sure. Even if you are rather scrawny…and older than my granny."

Minerva shivered at the leering look in his eyes, as it suddenly occurred to her what a precarious position she was in as the only female prisoner on an island populated by what appeared to be a large number of rather unscrupulous men.

One of the others, a fat, heavily bearded man frowned at the tall one and spoke a word of caution. "Careful, Roy. We've got to play by the rules, you know. We don't know what her status is yet. Let me take her up to processing. Andy's expecting her."

Roy frowned at his heavy companion. "I can do it, Clyde. I need to stretch my legs, and don't worry, she'll arrive in good shape…mostly."

Clyde crossed his arms. "Andy knows the boat's docked, Roy. It's your hide if she isn't taken directly to him."

Roy's complexion went a shade paler under his layer of grime. "I know," he said shortly. "Come on." He turned to Minerva once more and pulled her along with him as fast as his long legs could carry him.

Once off the boat, they walked through a maze of dark, narrow corridors, past row after row of damp looking cells, some empty…some not. Minerva fearfully peered through grime encrusted bars into one or two of those with occupants as they passed, but could only catch fleeting glimpses of dirty, hopeless faces, most of which never glanced her way at all.

Every step that she took inside this horrid place just made her feel worse and worse. She thought that she'd been prepared for what she'd face here, but she was now coming to realize that she'd been wrong about that. Very, very wrong.

After awhile, it appeared that they'd climbed far enough up through the fortress to begin to have narrow, drafty windows appear here and there, letting gray watery light in to mix with the smoky torches that sputtered and flickered in the icy breezes every few feet along the passageways. Roy continued to pull Minerva roughly along with him, but his steps had slowed some, and he kept casting appraising glances her way as if trying to decide whether he should do something or not. Minerva was very much afraid that she knew what he was contemplating, and she hoped desperately that he'd listen to the other man's warning and simply take her to where she was supposed to be taken.

Finally, Roy stopped outside a plain wooden door. Minerva expected him to open it and for them to then go inside together, but instead, he pushed her up against the cold, damp stones of the wall beside it and grasped at her breast with a greasy hand. He kneaded the soft flesh beneath her garments with a slightly surprised look on his face as his own quite angular body pressed avidly against her own.

"Well, now," he murmured softly against her ear. "You ain't quite as bony as you look, are you?"

Her mouth had gone dry as dust when her back hit the wall, and her heart began to pound with fear as he continued to fondle her and press against her. Then, just as she thought he was about to pull up her skirt and try to assault her, he roughly pulled back and frowned down at her.

Without another word, he yanked open the door and shoved her into the room. She stumbled but managed to catch herself without falling, fortunately. She wasn't sure how many more blows to her head she could take in one day. As she straightened up, she found herself in a small stone room containing only a roughly hewn table with a folded pile of dark cloth on top of it, and a single chair. Sitting in the chair was a wiry balding man of middle years who smirked broadly at her and stood up.

"Well, well, Professor McGonagall. Fancy meeting you here of all places. Do you remember me? Granted, it's been a few years, but I sure as hell remember you."

Minerva frowned. "As a matter of fact, I do remember you. Andrew Pitt, isn't it?"

The man smiled even more broadly. "Now I am flattered. Who'd have guessed that you'd remember little old me after all these years?"

Then as if the sun went behind a sudden cloud, his smile faded and a frown took its place. He addressed the tall man who still stood in the doorway. "You can go about your business now, Roy. I'll handle her from here on out. Just send up a couple of guards to take her to her cell. There's no rush though. Tell them to wait outside until I call. The Professor and I need some time to get…reacquainted." The sharp sneer that had crept into his tone caused a shiver to speed down Minerva's spine.

Roy nodded and with a final speculative glance at Minerva, he turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Pitt now turned and walked around his prisoner in a wide circle assessing her condition, taking note of the marks of abuse on her face, the disheveled hair and the few rips in her gown that her rough treatment so far had produced. "Hmm…I'll admit that when I heard you were coming here, I thought at first that it must be a mistake." His voice was soft and sneering. "Surely the high and mighty Minerva McGonagall wouldn't ever break the law, and certainly she wouldn't commit murder, oh, no, indeed. But apparently, I was wrong. Yes, apparently during all those years when you were strutting around Hogwarts, turning your nose up at everything me and my buddies did, you were actually being the biggest hypocrite of all. Isn't that right…Professor?" He slurred the word insultingly and snapped it at her face.

Minerva really didn't know how to answer him, so she simply stood there and stared calmly back at him waiting to see what would happen next.

"Nothing to say to that, huh? Well, you won't be keeping that superior, better than thou attitude for long around here." Swiftly, the man pulled his wand from a sleeve holster and aimed it at her. With a muttered spell, he removed the binders that had held her hands behind her back. With a sense of relief, she brought her hands around in front of her body and tried to rub some feeling back into them.

"Okay, Professor, now that your hands are free, use them. Take off your clothes." He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at her.

Instinctively, Minerva glanced around at the empty room, though she knew that there was no place to go to attain any privacy. "Here?" she asked.

Pitt barked a short ugly laugh. "Yes, here, Professor. Prisoners don't get to keep their clothing when they come here. Nor do they get fancy dressing rooms to change in."

He walked across the room and picked up the pile of folded material that turned out to be a rough, shapeless brown robe, and folded up inside was a pair of brown leather slippers. He waved the garments at her briefly and then carelessly tossed them back down onto the table.

"This is what you'll be wearing here. Now strip…or I'll do it for you."

Not having the slightest doubt that he meant every word he said, Minerva quickly divested herself of her robe, stockings and shoes, but when she then reached for the garments on the table, he slapped her hand and forced her to draw back.

"Oh no, Professor. When I said strip, I meant everything. You don't keep your soft, comfortable undergarments. No, indeed. You can keep the knickers, I suppose, for the moment, but nothing else. I want it all. Now." As she hesitated, he smiled. "You'll get everything back you know, for your trial. Of course, once you're found guilty…"

Minerva shivered at the thought that things could possibly get worse than they already were, but apparently there was some slight difference between the accused and the condemned here. And as horrid as her status was now, it would deteriorate even more once she'd actually been found guilty of her crime. Slowly, she averted her eyes from Andy Pitt and removed the rest of her clothing. As she drew her shift over her head and let it fall from nerveless fingers, his eyes gleamed but, surprisingly, he held his tongue.

As he watched closely, she picked up the shapeless brown robe, and slipped it over her head. Then she slid her thin feet into the uncomfortable slippers. Once she stood dressed in her prison attire, he nodded with satisfaction. "There now, that wasn't as bad as you thought it would be, was it? It wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, I'll say that. You have a pretty good body for such a skinny old witch. Though it did seem to have quite a few bruises on it. Some of them were in very interesting places, too. Hey, when I was in school, we used to speculate all the time about whether or not you and old Dumbledore were sleeping together. Are you? Were those his "lovebites" on your body?"

The question caught her by surprise. It didn't really surprise her to think that students might be wondering about their professors' sex lives, but she certainly never expected the topic to come up here, under these conditions. Idly, she wondered what he'd say if he knew that her lover was actually one of his former schoolmates, a younger schoolmate at that. With a sigh, she straightened up and stared haughtily at Pitt. "That's not any of your business, Mr. Pitt."

"Hmmm… Well, you're wrong there. Anything that I choose to inquire about becomes my business here…Professor…and you'd do well to remember that. Though I suppose it's not as if it really matters now. If old "Addled Albus" is your lover, he's certainly out of luck from now on. He's probably out looking for a replacement as we speak." He chuckled at his own joke.

"Oh, and one more thing." He waved his wand at her head and all the pins that held her hair up vanished instantly; the heavy mass cascaded down her back and settled around her shoulders. "No hairpins."

He circled around behind her, grasped a handful of her hair and brought it up to his nose. Inhaling deeply, he smiled. "Lavender. A pity it won't be smelling so fragrant for long."

Suddenly, he grasped her chin roughly in his hand and wrenched her face around to his. "You're in my power here, Professor. When I say jump, you'd better do it immediately or the consequences won't be very nice ones. Have I made myself clear on this?"

Minerva nodded stiffly. Not an easy task with his fingers digging into the sides of her face.

"Excellent." He smiled and released her. "Now, for the final touch." He aimed his wand at her throat and stated calmly, "Regnare Bestia".

Instantly, a tight metal collar encircled her neck, and she felt a wave of weakness wash over her. She staggered and would perhaps have fallen if he hadn't grabbed her arm tightly and held her on her feet.

"Yes, it does seem to have quite a strong effect, doesn't it, Professor? We can't be having you doing your little feline impersonation around here, though. Cats who wander often end up dead. No pets allowed, you know. So, it's best to see that you stay in your cell. This little collar will assure that."

Hesitantly, she fingered the collar, which felt slightly warm to the touch, and glared wordlessly at her captor. There didn't really seem to be any point in responding.

With a final smirk, he dropped his hand away from her arm and turned to the door.

"Guard," he bellowed sharply.

At his yell, the door opened inward and two rather burly men entered.

Pitt moved away from Minerva and gestured to her casually. "Take her to cell number 869, McMurthy. It's time for the Professor to get a close up look at her new standard of living."

The guards chuckled and nodded. Then one of them reached out a hand and grabbed Minerva's arm, hauling her out the door into the corridor beyond. Once there, he put his hand in the middle of her back and shoved her to the left, stating roughly, "Get moving, missy."

And shivering with more than the cold, Minerva complied.

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**Next Chapter: **As Minerva faces her life in prison, those at Hogwarts begin to plan to get her released.


	30. What Now?

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Thirty: What Now?**

The cell door clanged shut behind her back, and for the first time all day, Minerva found herself completely alone. Her eyes roamed over her new world. The cell she'd been confined to was small, barely big enough to take seven paces across and down, and completely lined with gray stones just like everything else within the fortress. The furniture, if one could actually use that grand a term, consisted of a covered chamber pot and a narrow iron bedstead with a mattress, a couple of threadbare blankets, and a stained pillow on it. High in the wall beside the bed was a long and narrow window with rusty iron bars across it. The glass within its frame was ancient and warped, and it didn't do the best job of keeping out the bitter winds of the North Sea.

Slowly, she crossed the room to the cot and sat down on it. The mattress was thin and extremely lumpy. Her back began to ache sympathetically at just the thought of having to spend the rest of her nights sleeping on it. As she was hit by a blast of cold air that had wormed its way through a crack in the window frame, she shivered convulsively and pulled the blankets up around herself to ward off its touch. Even being wrapped securely in their meager lengths wouldn't be enough to keep her warm in this awful place. The sharp, chill dampness would stealthily seep into everything until the dry warmth of the land was nothing but a distant memory. How many prisoners simply died from constant exposure to the frigid cold of a North Sea winter, she wondered dismally, and she couldn't help thinking that however many it was, she might very well count herself amongst them before long.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had absolutely nothing to do. How did the prisoners keep from going mad here with nothing to occupy their minds and hands from day to endless day in this place? Perhaps they didn't. Perhaps that was part of the creeping horror of prison. Back home, there was always something to occupy her time. Books to read, parchments to grade, exams to create, administer, and mark, papers of her own to write…chess…something, but here there would be nothing. Nothing to do but think. Think, and worry, and wonder…

With a sigh, she leaned back against the cold, hard wall, grimacing at its slick, clammy feel. The scene of her arrest played out once more in her mind with vivid detail. Such a debacle. Poor Albus. Perhaps Severus had been right, after all. He'd looked so shocked when he was handed that decree ordering her arrest for murder, but it was best that he was shocked. No one could accuse him of knowing the truth and trying to shield her now. Though she'd never have chosen for him to find out the truth that way, in the long run, it was probably the best thing for him and the school. No one would doubt his surprise…or his ignorance.

Irma had looked stunned, too, and so very frightened. Minerva felt horribly guilty for subjecting her friend to that, but there wasn't anything that she could have done to stop it, except to have left earlier. If she hadn't spent so much time arguing with Severus and then making love to him. If it hadn't been so hard to leave him… She hugged the blankets more closely about her thin frame and desperately tried to conjure up the feeling of having his warm arms around her once more. Already, she missed him so much.

What were they all doing now? What were they thinking? Were they ashamed of her? Shocked at her predicament? Worried about her? Had they all gone on with their day as if nothing had happened? Slowly, she slid down the wall and curled up into a ball on the bed. Trying to hold back the despair that had settled on her as heavily as if the dementors were still present, she closed her eyes and tried to empty her mind. She didn't want to think any more. It was too hard. Too painful. Perhaps if she didn't think, she could rest. Blank it all out…for just a little while.

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Snape fidgeted restlessly in his chair as he watched the Headmaster with sharp eyes. He'd told the man everything he could think of, and now there seemed to be nothing to do but just sit here and wait for Dumbledore to decide on a course of action. An activity that wasn't doing anything for his disposition. Waiting was always such a frustrating occupation. You'd think after all the years he'd spent doing it for one reason or another, he'd be better at it, but he still had a difficult time being patient when action seemed to him to be what was called for.

It was also a bit worrisome to sit here and watch his master and wonder if he was going to be able to find an answer yet again. The old wizard looked incredibly weary at the moment, and that certainly wasn't encouraging. The man had leaned back in his own chair and had removed his spectacles, and now was in the process of rubbing his eyes. Finally, he seemed to reach some conclusion, for he carefully replaced the glasses, took a deep breath and sat upright once more.

"All this pain because Voldemort needs more money for his war chest," he said with a sigh.

Snape snorted shortly. "That does seem to be what it boils down to. Standish tried to blackmail Minerva into giving him her money. Minerva being Minerva, turned him down cold and sent him packing, and now she's paying the price."

"Minerva was correct to defy Standish, Severus," Dumbledore's voice chided softly. "Giving in to such blackmail would have been only the beginning, and she couldn't let him take her wealth and use it to support such evil. She'd never agree to that no matter the consequences to herself. Where she erred was in not coming to me immediately when she discovered what Standish was really after."

"Believe me, Albus, I pointed that out to her many times. She simply refused to see it that way. She saw her arrest as inevitable, and she wanted you and the school kept as far away from it as possible. All that stubborn Gryffindor nobility would let her think about was protecting the damn school's reputation. What happened to her didn't seem to matter to her at all." Snape shook his head in disgust and jumped up from his chair and began to pace the room, his face settling into heavy lines of discontent, his fists curling and uncurling in a nervous rhythm, releasing a small fraction of the energy so tightly contained in his spare frame.

Dumbledore smiled sadly up at him. "No, it wouldn't. That Gryffindor nobility of spirit that you insist upon sneering at is at the very foundation of who Minerva is, my boy. She simply isn't capable of looking out for herself first, if the consequences might hurt someone else. That's also why I know that she's innocent of this crime, no matter how bad it looks."

"I definitely agree with you there. It's inconceivable that Minerva could murder anyone. However, she didn't seem as certain. And I have to admit that the evidence in that pensieve copy was incredibly damning."

Dumbledore nodded. "Considering the strength of the evidence against her, I'm not surprised that she was uncertain. Especially, given that she no longer has any memories of the events in question. However, I've known Minerva McGonagall since before you were born. I believe that she's quite capable of killing if necessary in defense of another, hopefully also in defense of her own life. She's quite powerful enough and skilled enough but murder? No. Never. Minerva would never kill anyone who couldn't defend himself. There simply has to be another answer, and you and I are going to have to find it before it's too late."

Snape nodded sharply and momentarily halted his pacing to stare back at Dumbledore. "Yes, we are, and every moment we delay will make things worse for her. Time is our enemy. The first thing that we have to do is find a way to get her out of Azkaban. Now that the dementors are no longer in charge there, she'll be in much greater personal danger. No amount of time spent there awaiting trial will be safe for her." His voice was infused with a sense of urgency.

Dumbledore frowned and leaned forward. "Why do you say that, Severus?"

"I'd think it would be obvious," the Potions master snapped. "The dementors sapped the will of their prisoners. Existing under their control was a hell of the mind and the emotions, but unless the prisoner was condemned to their kiss," Snape's lips curled in distaste, "they weren't usually harmed physically. After all, the dementors only continued to feed on those who survived and had the emotions to attract them, so it was to their advantage to keep their prisoners in decent physical shape."

Snape's eyes gleamed and the taut lines of his body stiffened slightly. "Now that the dementors have joined up with the Dark Lord, the Ministry, with rather dubious judgment, if you ask me, has chosen to replace them with the some of the less savory members of society, and has entrusted the running of the prison to them. Many of these people thrive on cruelty. No one has ever cared overly much for those condemned to Azkaban, but the situation now is as bad as it's ever been. From what I understand, deaths amongst the prison population have risen substantially since they took over. Minerva will be the only female prisoner in the entire prison. There were a few others once, but apparently they didn't survive the changeover. The guards, of course, are all male. She will be abused there, Albus. It's simply a matter of when and how badly. We have to find some way to stop it!" His voice had risen with his agitation.

Dumbledore frowned in concern. "I'm well aware of the situation that Minerva finds herself in, but as bad as it is, rushing to trial isn't the answer either. The evidence against her is very strong, and at the moment, we aren't prepared to counter it. We need more time. Time to investigate the situation. Time to find the evidence we need to clear her name."

Snape laid his hands flat on the desk and leaned forward, pleading his case. "Minerva may not have that time, Albus. Surely you could use your influence with the Ministry to have her moved to a cell there instead of having to endure the horrors of Azkaban? After all, she hasn't been convicted of anything yet. It was my understanding that was why those Ministry cells existed. They should be put to use. She shouldn't be in that prison!"

"I did try, Severus." Dumbledore eyed his friend sympathetically. "Unfortunately, this promises to be a fairly high profile trial, and the interim Minister of Magic, Klaas Gallagher, wants to use it to further his chances of attaining the position permanently. Not that anyone would come right out and admit that, of course, but that's what all the double talk that I received boiled down to."

"This shouldn't be a high profile case. Henry Grant was a nobody stablehand. He disappeared fifty years ago and until now, no one gave a damn!" The angry frown on Snape's face looked as if it had been permanently engraved.

Dumbledore nodded patiently. "True, but Minerva isn't a nobody. She's a very well known and highly respected member of the community. As the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, she has a very high level of visibility, and now it's become general knowledge that she was once married to a fairly well connected, influential, and apparently wealthy man, who also has some involvement in this affair. While few people will follow the trial because they'll care about Henry Grant, many more will wish to see how such a prominent member of our society is treated when charged with such a shocking crime. While many will want her treated right, others will be equally interested to see that she doesn't get any unfair advantage because of her high position in society."

Snape exploded, smacking his hands hard against the surface of the desk and returning to his agitated pacing. "Damn it! There has to be something we can do to get her out of that place. You don't seem to be overly concerned about her, Albus. Frankly, I'd expect better of you."

"Of course, I'm concerned, Severus. Minerva is one of my oldest and dearest friends. I don't want any harm to befall her, and I want her freed just as much as you do." He paused and reconsidered as he stared earnestly up at the agitated younger man. "Well…perhaps I should say almost as much. After all, I'm not the one here who's in love with her."

Caught off guard by this completely unexpected remark, the suddenly ashen Snape ceased his pacing and went very still. His breath caught in his throat and then licking his dry lips nervously, he tried to deny it to them both.

"Love? Don't be absurd, Albus. I'm not in love with Minerva. She's my colleague…and…and my friend, that's all." Suddenly, admitting to friendship seemed by far the lesser of two evils. "I just don't want to see her suffer. She doesn't deserve it."

Dumbledore nodded slowly and emitted a soft sigh. "Of course, Severus." He paused and then added quietly, "Neither do I."

An uncomfortable silence hovered between them for a few moments while they both directed their attention anywhere but at each other, then Dumbledore cleared his throat authoritatively and sat back in his chair.

"Well, we need to settle on a plan of action. I've already obtained official permission to defend her at her trial. The next step will be to obtain permission to visit her in Azkaban and speak to her about all of this. I need to hear her account of things first hand if I'm to do an adequate job of representing her."

Snape nodded in agreement, grasping at a fragile ray of hope. "Yes, if they know that you'll be coming to see her regularly, then that might stay the worst of the abuse. They would have to be careful with someone who hasn't been convicted of a crime yet." He refused to even think about what would happen to her if she actually was convicted of this crime. They simply had to find a way to prevent that from ever happening.

"Yes. You're absolutely correct about that. Then I'll need to go to the Ministry and obtain permission to view all the evidence against her."

"The copy of the pensieve memories is still in Minerva's rooms if you want to see it," Snape offered.

"Yes, I will want to see that at some point, but I've already heard your impression of it, and I think I'd prefer to see the actual pensieve with her memories inside it first. From what you've said, the quality of the copy isn't really all that good, and I'd like my first impression to be a vivid one."

Dumbledore paused and considered his Potions master thoughtfully. "Since the quality of the copy isn't particularly good, maybe things won't seem as dire once I've seen the real pensieve of memories."

Snape sighed. "Frankly, I doubt that it will matter. The copy had no sound, and you couldn't enter the memories for a complete view, but the images themselves seemed quite clear, and I'm afraid that it seemed quite dire enough to me."

He hesitated as his mind returned once more to the puzzle of the pensieve copy. "There was something about it that bothered me though."

"Oh?" The Headmaster looked hopeful.

"I'm afraid that I'm not exactly sure just what it was, unfortunately," he admitted reluctantly.

"Well, hopefully it will come to you soon," Dumbledore said.

"That's what Minerva said," he murmured softly.

Then the Potions master frowned once more. "The key here is Ian Standish. That man knows much more about all this than he's saying. His suddenly just happening upon this pensieve after all these years simply isn't believable. He knew it was there. Most likely, he put it there himself. Minerva has a scar in her memory. She was obliviated to wipe all hint of this incident from her mind. Standish was apparently trained as an Obliviator by the time this all happened. He must've been the one who destroyed her memories. Therefore, he knew all about this incident when it happened, and he's remained silent all these years, holding onto this evidence until it was of use to him. Does that sound like an innocent man to you?"

"No. But there doesn't seem to be any way to prove that he had any prior knowledge of this. Minerva certainly can't prove that he did if she doesn't remember any of it herself. He apparently doesn't appear in the pensieve. The memories clearly are not his, and the incriminating wand found with the pensieve was Minerva's wand without a doubt. There doesn't seem to be any way to tie Ian Standish to this crime, and that's not what we should be focusing on anyway. We need to keep our focus on Minerva. She's innocent, and we need to find some way to prove it."

An image of Minerva's face, full of pain and worry, suddenly appeared sharp and vivid in front of Snape's eyes, and he blinked abruptly to banish it before answering softly, "Yes, Albus, we do…before it's too late."

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Irma Pince sat down behind her desk and stared blindly around the currently empty library. All day long, all she heard from every table, every group of whispering students, was…is it true? Did Professor McGonagall really murder someone? She'd had to hold herself back from yelling angrily at them all. How could they so easily believe such lies? Of course, Minerva wasn't a murderess! Didn't they know her at all? Hadn't they been paying any attention to their teacher during all this time spent in her classroom?

Oh, rationally, she knew that they were young, and charges such as these were shocking, and one tended to believe that if someone was arrested there must be good reason for it. However, in this case, she knew better. She knew without a doubt that this was all some horrid misunderstanding, and so she'd tried to be patient with the students and had simply admonished them to pay attention to their work, but she couldn't really blame them for wondering what was going on, after all, she wondered, too.

The day had crawled by in agonizing slowness, but now, finally, it was almost time to go down to the Great Hall for dinner. Time to have to face the whispers again. This time they'd most probably come from her colleagues, who should certainly know better. All she'd been able to think about today was her friend, and what she must be going through.

Azkaban prison. Simply thinking the name numbed Irma's heart with cold fear. How could Minerva survive being forced into such an awful place? The Headmaster simply had to find a way to get her back again before something horrible befell her there. He just had to.

The more she'd gone over all this in her mind, the more she realized that Minerva knew that this was going to happen. That was why she'd been so sad when she'd spoken of having to go away. Why she'd been so unsure whether or not she'd be allowed to return. Oh, if only she'd been willing to share her fears. There might've been something that Irma could've done to help her.

The librarian frowned. This had to be Ian Standish's fault. That man had caused nothing but pain and heartache for Minerva from the moment she'd been forced into marrying him. Certainly, he'd been aiming to cause her trouble when he showed up here. There seemed to be little doubt about that.

Irma sighed to herself and got to her feet. She needed to know more about what had happened. All day she'd been hoping for some word, but it had all been silence so far. Would Albus tell her if she asked? Would she dare? Or perhaps she should ask Severus. He seemed to know what the truth was, too. No matter how much that man denied it, it seemed very clear to her that he cared a great deal for Minerva. Certainly, he'd be trying to help her now. But would asking him for information be any easier than asking the Headmaster?

Irma snorted softly to herself. Stupid question. Well, she'd go to dinner and see what her options were, but someone needed to tell her something soon or she was never going to be able to sleep tonight at all.

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**Next Chapter: **Minerva discovers some harsh realities about life in Azkaban.


	31. Reality Check

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Thirty One: Reality Check**

Warm arms cradled her body lovingly and a low voice whispered soft seductive words in her ear, like a faint breeze that tickles the skin and caresses the hair in a pool of sunlight.

"I'll take care of you, Minerva. I won't ever let anything happen to you…" the low voice promised in the dark chocolate tones of her lover.

A smile touched her lips, and she sighed with contentment as she slid warm hands across his smooth, firm skin. How she loved to touch him and to feel his touch in return. "Oh, that's a nice sentiment, but I can take care of myself," she murmured softly.

"Can you?" The voice rose derisively. "Not very well, I think. If it was up to you, you'd be in prison now instead of in my arms."

She squirmed uncomfortably in his tightening embrace. "Arms can be a prison, too," she whispered.

The seductive chocolate voice melted into acid and spoke suddenly in the harsher tones of another. "Would my arms have been that bad, Minerva? Would coming back to me have truly a prison made?"

Ian, her thoughts screamed, but when she tried to open her mouth to give voice to his name, she abruptly found herself being lifted up off of her cot and roughly slammed against the unyielding stones of her cell wall. Her gasping mouth was immediately filled with a fat questing tongue tasting of stale beer and tobacco.

Shocked into wakefulness, her eyes flew open in sudden panic, but she couldn't focus them properly on the figure who was assaulting her as the man was far too close. Large hands possessed her body roughly and pressed eagerly against it. For a single stunned moment, she just allowed the hands to grope at her greedily, but when they began to squeeze her breasts as one might test for overripe fruit at a market, she began to struggle to get them off of her. Filled with revulsion, she somehow managed to twist her face away from the insistent sucking mouth and gasp for breath.

"Get off me!" she shrieked as loudly as she could once she was able to draw breath into her lungs once more.

Her frantic exclamation was answered by a drunken laugh, and to her horror the grasping hands ripped open the bodice of her robe with an easy strength and began to paw roughly at the delicate flesh beneath.

"Just relax," a lewd voice rasped. "You'll enjoy it more that way."

Suddenly, fiery indignant anger surged through her at this insufferable intrusion, and she lashed out in the only way left to her. Her sharp, bony knee came up as swiftly as she could make it and impacted hard with, a far firmer than she'd wish, suspension of flesh hanging between her captor's splayed legs.

A sharp yowl of pain rent the air, and the grasping hands abruptly released her in order to cradle their own abused flesh. As it was presented to her, she took the opportunity and shoved the repulsive figure of a barrel-chested man with long, thick iron-gray hair off of her as hard as she could; then she turned and headed for the now open cell door in haste. She didn't have any clear idea of where she could run to, true escape was obviously impossible, but all her horrified mind could grasp at the moment was that she had to get away from this man…as far and as fast as possible.

Unfortunately, her knee hadn't rendered her attacker immobile as much as it had simply infuriated him. Before she could take more than a few steps towards the dubious sanctuary of the open corridor, she felt strong hands seize her by her hair and yank her back into his grasp, tearing long strands painfully from her head in the process.

"You bitch!" he screamed furiously. "You sodding murderous bitch! You ain't getting away from me that easy." Then he drew back his fist and smashed it into the side of her face as hard as he could.

Her head snapped back sharply and, without any memory of getting there, she found herself lying flat on her back on the floor of the cell with this irate red-faced man standing over her. To her horror, all she could do was watch and try to roll away as he drew back his foot and kicked her viciously in the hip. Reality faded out for a moment in a red tinged haze of pain, and when it crept back and poked at her again, she realized that there were now two other people in the cell as well. A tall man whom she dazedly remembered as the one who'd brought her from the boat ( Roy, wasn't it ) was holding the red-faced man firmly by the arms, while an angry looking Andrew Pitt shook a finger in his face.

It took a moment for the noisy buzzing that swirled through her ears to begin to turn itself into words that she could comprehend.

"I know I told you to leave her alone, Quent, so don't bother to pretend that I didn't!" yelled Pitt.

"Hey, I got needs, don't I? What am I supposed to do about that, eh? There ain't any other females here anymore, ever since that Flinche woman died. Why the hell shouldn't I have a piece of this one if I want to? I got seniority. That's what they're here for, after all. And this one's a murderess. You said so yourself. No one's going to care what happens to her." He stuck out his chin belligerently.

"You arse," exclaimed Pitt in disgust. "I explained all this to you. How many times do I have to say it before it sinks into that thick skull of yours? She hasn't been convicted yet, and until she's been condemned, there's still a change that she could end up being freed. If she goes free, and you assaulted her while she was here, you'd lose your job, you idiot, and you'd likely end up on this side of the cell door, too. Doesn't that mean a bit more to you than screwing some scrawny piece of skirt like her?"

Quent frowned sullenly and examined the floor. "I guess," he grudgingly replied. "What about after she's convicted?" He raised his eyes hopefully.

Pitt nodded. "Once she's been convicted, it's a different story, but for now…hands off. You got that?"

Quent nodded somewhat reluctantly. "Yeah…I guess so."

Pitt nodded to Roy, who released Quent and stepped back. "Okay, now both of you get back to your posts."

Roy nodded and left without saying a word, but Quent eyed Minerva insolently before he left and a sly half smile crept up his cheek. "When's her trial?" he asked softly.

Pitt frowned at him. "Never you mind, I told you to get back to work."

"All right, all right, I'm going." The stocky man sneered down at Minerva once more. "I'll be back though, and when I am, I'm going to make you scream." Then he turned and left the cell with a swaggering step, one big hand massaging himself gently.

A sharp shiver of fear shot through Minerva as she gazed at the thankfully receding back of her recent tormentor. She tried her best to hide it, but she knew that she wasn't fooling anyone. This horrifying turn that her life had taken was frightening her more and more with each passing hour, and Pitt had to be aware of it, no doubt he was counting on it to help keep her under his control.

After Quent had gone, Pitt turned and directed an assessing look down at the bloodied woman on the floor. Without a word, he took out his wand and aimed it at her. Minerva gasped, not knowing what to expect, but he simply stated, "Reparo" in a bland voice, and watched as the torn bodice of her robe quickly knitted itself up leaving a rough ragged seam across her breasts. Automatically, her hand came up to run down its length, checking that the entire gash was closed. Then the man returned his wand to the holster in his sleeve and reached down to help her back to her feet.

Once she stood facing him, he assessed her injuries briefly and asked in a noncommittal tone, "Are you all right?"

"Does it really matter?" she answered bitterly. The side of her face was beginning to ache, and it felt as if it was also beginning to swell. When she put her hand up to touch her tender cheek, to her dismay, it came away with blood on it. Her hip also felt severely bruised, putting weight on her left leg hurt tremendously. It was, unfortunately, the same one she'd injured on the boat.

Pitt shrugged at her comment. "I need to keep you in reasonably good shape until your trial, Professor, so, yeah, I guess it matters…some." He extracted a grimy handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her.

"Your nose and cheek are bleeding a bit."

With a slightly shaking hand, she took the handkerchief, folded it to the least objectionable portion, and pressed it to her nose to staunch the worst of the blood flow. "Do your bosses at the Ministry know that your men treat prisoners like this?" She glared angrily at Pitt while she tried to control her trembling before her pain and fear got the better of her and quenched her angry rage.

Pitt's brows drew together, and he stepped a bit closer to her and lowered his voice. "My bosses at the Ministry had better not hear anything about this incident, if you know what's good for you."

Incredulously, she laughed in his face. "You're threatening me? With what? Harsh treatment? I've been mistreated or assaulted by practically every man who's crossed my path so far. I was just almost raped, and probably will be before long, if Quent's threats can be believed, and I have no doubt that they can. How much worse could my treatment possibly get? Perhaps if I complain, tell them what really goes on in here, things will improve. What do I have to lose by trying anyway?"

"A lot more than you seem to realize. I don't think you truly appreciate the precariousness of your situation, Professor. So let me spell it out for you. If you tell anyone about what just went on here, you might succeed in getting Quent fired or even arrested, but all that would do would be to make everyone else here very angry with you. And believe me, that's something that you should avoid at all costs. As long as you're here, you're in my power, and you'd do well to remember that. You see I can make your life bearable or I can end it…very quickly." His eyes, staring down into hers, were as cold as the air outside the prison.

Minerva shivered slightly at the certainty in his tone, but she wasn't used to backing down from a fight, and she wasn't about to start now. "If I'm acquitted, I won't be in your power any longer, Mr. Pitt."

He shrugged casually. "That's true, but what are the odds of that actually happening? Everyone at the Ministry is sure that you're guilty. In fact, from everything I've heard, the case against you is almost a formality. The evidence they have is overwhelmingly against you. I think the likelihood of you walking away from here a free woman is very, very small, and I think you know that, too."

She said nothing. What could she say after all? He was right.

He nodded in satisfaction at her lack of response. "Now, if you keep your mouth shut, after you're convicted, I can make your life a whole lot more comfortable than it would've been. I can give you a warmer cell, more blankets, better food, and I can keep Quent's visits and abuses to a minimum. On the other hand, if you tell anyone about this, and you end up back here, you won't survive even a full day, and I assure you that you'll suffer through every minute. There are a lot of very desperate men here, Professor, a lot of desperate men with very dangerous appetites, and no women to practice them on. Now, you just think about that before you go spouting off to anyone on the outside."

Then with a final warning glare, Pitt left the cell, locking the iron door behind him with a final firm clang. A violent trembling began to take over her body, and Minerva limped the few paces to the side of her narrow cot and sat down abruptly as her quaking legs would no longer hold her upright. One trembling hand rose up to cradle her damaged cheek and then drifted down to run lightly along the ragged scar across her bosom as she clenched her other hand around the now bloody handkerchief and dropped it to her lap. She'd had a narrow escape, and she knew it.

She also knew that all she'd really done was buy herself some time. Pitt was right, as horrible a thought as that was. Her chances of escaping a life sentence here were slim to none, and reporting their behavior, if anyone would even care, would likely gain her nothing except trouble further down the line. More abuse. More pain.

Suddenly, as she looked around her small cold cell in the fading light, the reality of her circumstances hit her squarely in the heart. Her quiet orderly respectable life was truly gone for good. With all the evidence that was piled up against her, the trial she now faced would no doubt be short and, for her at least, fruitless. This was all the world that was left to her now. She needed to accept that and find a way to deal with it.

No one could help her. To even stand by her would be risky. Albus had to take the reputation of the school into account. To be seen to support someone who was so obviously guilty would harm his standing in the community far too much. He could put his position as Headmaster of Hogwarts in jeopardy if he tried, and she simply couldn't allow that. Especially not after what he'd gone through last year.

Severus certainly couldn't support her. Her heart lurched painfully as she thought of the Potions master. There was far too much at stake for him to be able to stand up in open court and declare himself an advocate for her even if he wanted to. He had a reputation to uphold that mattered far more in the overall scheme of things than she did. What happened to one lone woman didn't matter in the slightest next to all the good he could do safely ensconced in his position as spy for the Order. No, there'd be no help for her there, either.

Another shiver of cold and fear ran through her, and she wrapped herself once more in the threadbare blankets and lay down on the cot, curling protectively inward. Never had she felt more alone. The certainty that she'd be spending what remained of her life confined to this cell, or one very much like it, suddenly weighed down on her like an anchor around her neck.

For the first time, she wondered if she'd made the right decision when she'd defied Ian. Gryffindors don't run from a fight, nor give in to blackmail, yet what had standing up to him truly gotten her?

Once she was condemned, she'd lose all her rights as a member of the wizarding community. When that happened, he'd be perfectly within his right to petition the court to give him her property anyway, and despite her having a valid will, he was right when he said that he could very well succeed. He was powerfully connected, and that could often make all the difference. She had no blood kin left, and as her ex-husband, he came as close to being a relative as anyone. And if he ended up winning in the end, what had defying him really gained her?

If she'd given in to him, she'd have had to let him touch her again, but was that really any worse than being assaulted by Quent and the countless other men lining up behind him to gain their pleasure from the use of her body? At least with Ian, it would have been only occasionally, and in the comfortable surroundings of Hogwarts or somewhere similar instead of in the hard cold confines of a cell. And she'd have still had her life, her job…Severus. Though he'd have probably refused to touch her any longer if he ever found out that she'd given in to Standish, and she certainly wouldn't blame him if he did.

Tears that she'd suppressed for so long finally couldn't be held back any longer and stung her eyes, sliding down her cheeks, forming tracks for those that followed. With crystal clarity, the harsh reality of her lonely life was once more thrust into her consciousness in a way that simply couldn't be denied. In her entire life, she'd never been touched by the hands of someone who truly loved her. That depth of caring, of affection, had never been offered to her and now it never would be.

Ian certainly had never loved her. He'd desired her, and what she could give to him, but he wasn't capable of truly loving anyone other than himself. After she'd escaped from him, none of the other partners that she'd taken into her life and into her bed had lasted for any length of time or had come to mean anything more than a pleasant time between the sheets and some enjoyable companionship. It had been safer that way, and she hadn't ever thought to regret it…until now.

And then quite unexpectedly, there'd been Severus. A man that she'd never have thought in a million years that she'd come to care so much about. Though she'd come to the belated realization that her feelings for him were far stronger than she'd ever intended, she held no illusions that he felt the same for her. After all, he'd been very clear where things could and could not go for them, and love certainly wasn't on his agenda. Oh, he cared about her; there was no question about that…but love? No.

He likely wasn't any more capable of it than Ian had been or than she'd thought herself to be. Thank goodness she hadn't made an utter fool of herself and confessed her feelings to him the last time they'd been together. Most likely, he'd have just backed away from her as quickly as he could, and their parting would've been far more awkward than it had been. Regardless, he was gone from her life now. And any affection he'd had for her was now far beyond her reach. So here she lay, alone in a cell in the middle of the North Sea with a past full of regrets and empty feelings and no future on the horizon at all.

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**Next Chapter:** Albus goes to Azkaban to speak with Minerva.


	32. A Visit With The Prisoner

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Thirty Two: A Visit with the Prisoner**

Andrew Pitt rose from his comfortable chair by the warm fire and approached the window reluctantly. Every time he was forced to open the damn thing to let another owl with a message in, the wind chilled the room thoroughly. Perhaps he should have them go and drop their messages down below in the main wardroom, but then, nothing would be private because none of the guards that worked here would hesitate for a moment to read anything that came in before it was delivered to him. Knowledge was power after all. Best to leave things as they are and practice up on warming spells instead.

As quickly as possible, he opened the small window and let the owl move swiftly into the room. The large bird, with its feathers fluffed up against the cold, crossed the room and settled easily onto the perch that awaited all messengers. Once there, it held out its leg, waiting patiently for Pitt to remove the roll of parchment that was tied securely with a stout thong.

Pitt removed the message and absently scooped a handful of feed for the bird into a shallow bowl, setting it down next to the occupied perch, he then moved back to his comfortable chair by the fire to read the missive. He hadn't been expecting anything in particular, and surprise notices were seldom good.

His frown deepened as he read the message from the Ministry. It certainly wasn't good news, though he shouldn't be all that surprised by it either. Dumbledore had been granted permission to come and speak to McGonagall. Apparently, her lover was under the delusion that he could free her from her imprisonment instead of being out looking around for a replacement bed warmer. Such foolhardy devotion.

Pitt chewed on a lip thoughtfully. All in all, she wasn't in the best of shape. The men had roughed her up pretty good getting her here, but all prisoners should expect to end up a bit bruised. At least nothing had been broken, and he'd managed to stop Quent before he could do any serious damage to her. Still, old Dumbledore wouldn't be too happy when he got a good look at his lady love. Oh, well, it was a bit too late to do anything about it now.

There wasn't anyone on this bloody rock with decent healing abilities, and the old coot would be here in a few hours. So the chips would just have to fall where they did. There were plenty of easy scapegoats lined up before it ever got all the way up to him anyway. He'd certainly treated McGonagall much better than the run of the mill murderer deserved.

His eyes drifted back to the letter, and he read on. When he got to the last paragraph, his eyebrows rose in surprise. Well, well. This was certainly unexpected. He found himself wondering if Dumbledore knew and thus would pass this tidbit on to the prisoner or if he'd have the honor of doing it himself. Quent wouldn't be pleased. On the other hand, he still might be able to get his fun in. Certain things could be finessed a bit, after all…who was going to care by then?

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The ferry cruised to a stop beside the worn pier deep within the large underground cavern, and as it was docked, Dumbledore peered out of the cabin to find one person waiting for him. The ride to the island had been a silent one. The two men on board the boat had greeted him respectfully and showed him to a seat in the rear of the cabin; then they'd devoted their attention to piloting the boat through the choppy waters, a less than pleasant task in the cold gloomy darkness of the North Sea.

It had taken much longer than Dumbledore had wanted to get permission to come and see Minerva. Usually, once someone has been chosen to defend a prisoner, access was granted immediately, but for some reason that wasn't adequately explained to him, permission for him to make a trip out here had taken all day. He'd even begun to think that they were going to put him off until the following day, but at the last minute, he received the okay to come, and he didn't want to take the chance that they'd change their minds. Minerva had been here for two days already; goodness knows what sort of shape she was already in. He needed to see her now.

He'd tried to get permission to bring along a second person, knowing that Severus would want to see her as well. However, the order that came down was very specific. He, and he alone, was to be allowed a visit, and the visit was not to be of long duration. He was allowed only one hour with her. Not a lot of time, but it would have to do.

Severus had been disappointed to be forced to stay behind, though he himself had proclaimed it the wiser course. Still, no matter what he said, the look of pain and worry on his face before he'd hidden it behind a casual façade of indifference had saddened Dumbledore greatly. The younger man might deny his feelings until time ceased its forward pace, but he wasn't fooling the Headmaster one bit. Having to wait to hear news of Minerva would be very, very difficult for the Potions master, no matter how much he tried to pretend otherwise.

Once Dumbledore stepped off the boat onto the wooden pier, the middle-aged man who awaited him stepped forward and greeted him with an amiable smile.

"Professor Dumbledore. It's good to see you again. Sorry it has to be under such trying circumstances."

Dumbledore nodded. "I'm sorry as well, Mr. Pitt. It has been a long time, hasn't it?"

Pitt nodded solemnly. "I knew you'd remember me. I imagine that you remember all of your former students, don't you?"

"I do remember most. Though there have been a great many by now."

"Yes, I'm sure that there have. Well, if you'll follow me, I'll take you to see Professor McGonagall. It was such a shock to see her here, I must say." He watched the tall wizard carefully as they set off up through the prison at a brisk pace.

"Yes, this has been a shock for all of us." Dumbledore agreed.

Pitt nodded once more. "I'm sure it has been."

Together, they climbed many stone steps and walked down long stretches of corridors in silence, neither having too much that they wished to share with the other. Once they finally approached Minerva's cell though, Pitt spoke up again.

"I'm sorry that I can only allow you to have an hour with her, Professor, but those are the orders I was given."

Dumbledore nodded. "I understand, Mr. Pitt. That's what I was told as well."

"I'm glad to hear that Professor. Please understand also that though she's received a few bumps and bruises in her time here, in general, she's been as well taken care of as I've been able to manage."

Dumbledore frowned at this somewhat alarming statement, but contented himself with another nod. He'd just need to judge for himself exactly what Pitt meant by "a few bumps and bruises". He hoped it wasn't as bad as he feared it might be if the man felt it necessary to warn him ahead of time.

They stopped before a cell and Pitt unlocked it with a large key. "I'll be back in an hour," he said as he swung the door wide and waited for Dumbledore to step inside before closing and locking it behind him.

Once he could hear Pitt's footsteps receding into the distance, the tall wizard turned and let his eyes rove around the small cell. The woman he sought lay on the small narrow cot beside the room's only window, wrapped up in a couple of thin blankets. She appeared to be asleep.

Dumbledore took a moment to really look at her, and what he saw saddened and angered him a great deal. Her face was slightly swollen and covered with bruises, her hair was matted and tangled, her glasses looked slightly bent and were pushed askew on her face as it lay against the ratty pillow. A bloody handkerchief lay on the stones beneath her cot, and smears of dried blood marred one cheek. He knelt down next to her sleeping figure and laid a gentle hand on her head, caressing her hair softly.

"Minerva?" he spoke her name quietly, hoping to awaken her easily.

Her eyes flew open at the sound of his voice, and she pulled sharply back from his touch as if she feared an assault. This reaction chilled his heart; obviously there was a good reason for it.

"No! Don't…" her voice pleaded hoarsely as she sat up and clutched the blankets tightly across her chest.

"Minerva, it's me. It's Albus." Dumbledore was alarmed at her violent reaction and also at the fact that she didn't even seem to recognize him. What unknown horrors had happened to his lovely and sensible friend in the short time of her imprisonment?

"Albus," she whispered. She shook her head in wonder. "What are you doing here?"

He smiled encouragingly at her. "I'm here to see you, Minerva. "I'm here to help you, if I can." Heaving himself up off his knees, he slid onto the bed beside her, opening his arms and inviting her into his embrace.

With a soft gasp, she threw herself into his comforting arms and hugged him tightly. "Oh, Albus. It's so good to see you!" Her voice was heavy with suppressed emotion.

He hugged her tightly as well and frowned worriedly over the top of her dark head. She felt far frailer in his arms than she ever had before. In only two days time, she'd fared more poorly than he could possibly have imagined that she would. With a sudden shock, he realized that if she was condemned to a life sentence, then it would most likely be of far too brief a duration. "It's good to see you, too," he murmured softly, trying not to let his alarm and growing anger show up in his voice.

They simply sat there for a moment holding on to each other, and then finally Minerva pulled back a little and lifted a sorrowful face to her friend. "I'm so sorry, Albus. Please, forgive me. I never wanted you to find out about all this the way that you did. And the school… It shouldn't have happened. I wanted to get away before they came, to keep you and the school out of it completely. I meant to leave sooner. I should've left. If only I hadn't…" Sudden unbidden images of Snape's face flitted through her mind; she could feel his fingers on her skin, his lips on hers… She bowed her head at her weakness and sniffled softly against Dumbledore's robes. "I'm sorry," she whispered helplessly.

Dumbledore hugged her more tightly and said in a comforting voice, "No, my dear. You don't need to apologize for any of that. I'm only concerned with you at the moment." Gently, he caressed her bruised cheek with his hand. "Have they been mistreating you here?" His anger at her appearance edged the question with steel, despite his vow not to reveal it to her.

Her hand flew to her cheek, and she pulled away from him, turning her face to the side and hunching her shoulders protectively. "No. Well, perhaps a little," she whispered softly. "Nothing out of the ordinary, though. They're used to dealing roughly with people here, that's all." She couldn't tell him the truth. This was most likely going to be where she'd be spending the rest of her life. If she angered Pitt and the rest of them, things would only get worse, hadn't they promised her that? If a miracle happened and she was released, then she could talk about it, but for now, it was better to say nothing.

Dumbledore frowned but decided not to push the point. Though he wanted to be sure that she wasn't being treated badly, he was also aware that their time together was limited at the moment and delving into this subject might not be the best thing to do right now, so he moved on to a different topic. Instead, he'd have a little word to the wise with Mr. Pitt when he left.

"Minerva, why didn't you come to me as soon as Ian made his threats against you? If you'd told me the truth immediately, there might have been something that I could have done to prevent all this from happening."

She shook her head and stood up, dropping the blankets on the bed and clasping her arms around herself protectively. Stiffly, she moved across the small cell to lean against the bars of the door, obviously favoring her left leg. "No, Albus. There wouldn't have been anything that you could've done. I wanted to keep you out of it completely. For your sake and the school's sake, I wanted you to be able to truthfully say that you knew nothing about the charges leveled against me. Hogwarts has been through so much these last few years. No one should have to go through any more upheaval because of me. In fact, you shouldn't even be here now. You need to disassociate yourself from me completely. It's the best thing for you and the school. Please. That's why I resigned in the first place."

"I'm here because I'm going to be defending you," Dumbledore stated simply.

Minerva swung around to face him with a horror struck expression on her face. "No! You can't! I gave up everything that mattered to me so that you and Hogwarts wouldn't be dragged through the mud of this scandal. I can't have you involving yourself now. I won't allow it. Besides you were just reinstated as Chief Warlock a few months ago, they won't let you act as my defense. It would be a conflict of interest, and it could jeopardize your reinstatement. "

"It won't jeopardize anything. I took a voluntary leave of absence to do this, Minerva. At any rate, I wouldn't be allowed to preside over your trial. That would have been an even larger conflict of interest given our long friendship, and I couldn't simply stand by and do nothing."

She shook her head sorrowfully. "Oh, Albus, I really wish you hadn't done this."

"My dear, you're not thinking clearly. If I don't defend you, who will?" the elder wizard asked sensibly.

That was something that she'd simply never thought about so she stood there and stared blankly at him for a moment before trying to come up with an answer. "I…I don't know. But it shouldn't be you, Albus. After all the trouble you had last year, everything you went through to regain control of the school, to rebuild your reputation. You don't need to be associated with a murderess now. It will just tear all that down again."

"You aren't a murderess. I refuse to believe that, Minerva, and it really doesn't matter that you'd resigned and intended to leave the school. You are just as entwined with Hogwarts as I am. You'll still be portrayed as its Deputy Headmistress during any trial because that will garner more publicity for the Ministry. My defending you isn't going to harm my reputation or the school's reputation any further, and it's the right thing to do. Anyway, it's already been decided, officially approved, and probably publicly reported as well, so I don't want to hear any more argument about it."

With a sinking feeling in her heart, she merely stood there and watched him uncertainly. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps there wasn't any way she could completely divorce herself from Hogwarts after all these years of being so deeply ensconced there. No doubt she would have taught half of the population who would be hearing about this trial. Images of herself and Hogwarts would be one and the same for them. Maybe trying to run from that had been futile all along.

As he watched her come to the realization that he was probably right, Dumbledore patted the lumpy surface of the cot beside him and spoke to her once more in a gentle voice.

"Now, come and sit down beside me again. They haven't given me very much time with you, and I need to hear your side of the story while I can."

Slowly, she returned to the cot and lowered herself awkwardly to sit beside him once more. He couldn't help noting that she moved stiffly, as if she was in pain, though she didn't complain aloud. "Have you seen the memories in the pensieve copy from my room?" she asked in a low voice.

He shook his head. "No. Severus told me about them, but I wanted to see the real pensieve first."

Her head snapped up and her eyes gleamed questioningly. "And have you? What are they like? Oh, I wish I could see the actual pensieve. The copy left me with so many questions."

"I've been granted permission to go and see them tomorrow. I can ask when I'm there if you can see them as well. It seems only fair to me that you be allowed to view all the evidence against you."

"Yes, but somehow I'm not sure that fairness will be of paramount importance here." Her voice edged itself with bitterness. "Ian is very well respected by the members of the Wizengemot, and still viewed as one of them. Since he's the one who presented this evidence against me, no doubt they're predisposed to finding me guilty. I'd thought that people who were only accused of crimes were held at the Ministry before trial and treated as if they at least might be innocent, but what's happened to me so far has been very much the opposite. Mr. Pitt and his guards are certainly convinced that my conviction is a mere formality. That attitude must be coming from somewhere, I can only assume that it's the general feeling at the Ministry of Magic."

Dumbledore sighed deeply. "Yes, I'm afraid that acting Minister of Magic Gallagher has seized on this case as an opportunity to show how strong and decisive a Minister he can be. He's campaigning for his position to be made permanent, and he thinks that he can use your trial to help his cause. However, I've known the members of the Wizengemot for a very long time. I've been a member in good standing for many years myself. Most of them are very much strict adherents to the law. They might view Ian in a favorable light, but they won't allow either his testimony, or the wishes of this Minister, to overshadow their granting you a fair trial, Minerva. I'm certain of that."

Minerva nodded but held her tongue. She truly hoped that Albus was right, but her experience so far led her to believe otherwise. Then there was the fact that even if the trial was as fair as it could possibly be, she might still end up being convicted for the very simple reason that, as far as she could determine, she was guilty. There didn't seem to be any way around that extremely depressing fact.

"Now, before we run out of time together, will you please tell me your side of this story?"

"I don't know what I can tell you that you don't already know from the charges." Minerva shrugged doubtfully. "Ian came to me and showed me a copy of some memories held in a pensieve that he's had in his possession for years. He swore that he just discovered them, but I don't believe that for a moment. The memories appear to show me killing a man named Henry Grant. Grant worked on our estate in the early years of my marriage to Ian. I didn't know him well, nor would I have had any reason to kill him that I'm aware of, but then I don't remember the memories I saw in the pensieve copy either, and they did seem to be mine. Apparently, he also has my wand, the one I thought I'd lost years and years ago, and which shows Avad…the killing curse…to be one of its last spells cast."

"You have absolutely no recollection of this incident at all?"

"No, none. I remember Mr. Grant, though none of my memories of him are very strong. As I said, I hardly knew him. I do remember that he disappeared from the estate quite suddenly, and no one seemed to know where he'd gone, but at the time, everyone thought he'd just left voluntarily. He wasn't viewed as one of the more reliable employees we had." She paused and then added, "I remember looking for my wand for some time, and I remember reporting it as missing and going to get another one, but that's all I remember. I certainly never connected the disappearance of Henry Grant with my missing wand."

She turned and gave Dumbledore a serious look. "Severus looked into my mind before I left Hogwarts. He told me that I'd been obliviated sometime in the past. That the remaining scar is quite old. I have a feeling that that's when it happened, that someone obliviated all memory of this incident from my mind once I'd put my memories into the pensieve. Frankly, I think it was Ian. He'd have had the opportunity and the ability to do it, which says to me that he knows much more about this than he's telling. But it's all speculation. I can't prove anything, and it certainly appeared to be my hand holding the wand that killed that poor man…not Ian's."

With a sigh, she continued, "Ian told me that Grant had stolen money from us and that I was angry about that, but I certainly don't remember anything of the sort." Her voice hardened. "He also admitted to me that he helped me dispose of Grant's body, although I certainly could never prove that." She dropped her head into her hands and sighed hopelessly.

Dumbledore put a comforting arm around her once more. "There has to be more to this than meets the eye. I refuse to believe that you'd murder a man under any circumstances. The fact that someone tried to hide the incident so thoroughly from you is highly suspicious to me. You aren't guilty of this crime, Minerva, and we'll find some way to prove it, I promise."

Grateful for his support, she nodded automatically at his words, not really believing them, although she longed to desperately. Taking a deep breath, she tried to put on a brave face once more.

"How…how is everyone at the school? Did my being arrested like that cause any problems? Were you able to get Harry calmed down? He seemed so upset. That boy takes everything to heart, and lashes out without thinking sometimes; he's so much like his father, but he doesn't need anything else to be concerned about. Certainly not me."

Dumbledore smiled reassuringly. "The school was understandably upset about your being arrested, but I think I managed to calm them all down, including young Mr. Potter. None of them believe you guilty either, you know."

She smiled weakly. "How is Irma taking it? And ...everyone…" she finished lamely and fell silent, not quite able to bring herself to ask about Severus.

"Irma was very upset, as you might expect, but she supports you, too. Everyone on the faculty has spoken to me about this. None of them believe you guilty, Minerva. They all want to help, if possible. Poppy was particularly loud in her support. It seems that she was quite suspicious of Ian while he was at the school and wasn't at all surprised to learn that he'd submitted the evidence against you." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.

Minerva smiled faintly. "Was she? Well, it's a comfort to know that if Sibyll ever gives up telling us the truth about people after the fact, that Poppy is waiting in the wings to take over."

They exchanged a brief smile and then, as Minerva nodded and looked down at her hands once more, Dumbledore added softly, "Severus wanted to come with me today, but the Ministry would only allow one of us to come. It wouldn't have looked right for him to have been the one who came. I'm sorry, because I know you'd have liked to have seen him."

Surprised at his comments, she raised her eyes to his once more and saw compassion and understanding in their depths. She shook her head firmly. "No. Severus can't be seen to be supporting me. It wouldn't look good. You shouldn't have even suggested bringing him."

"He's a member of my staff in good standing. I rely on his judgment. If I wanted him to accompany me to visit you, then he would have and none would think anything of it. But it wouldn't do for him to make the visit alone. You're both right about that."

Not wishing to delve into this topic any deeper, Minerva changed the subject. "Have they set a date for the trial yet?"

"Not yet, but, unfortunately, I don't think they'll waste too much time. Now that I've been approved to defend you, and once I've viewed the evidence against you, I imagine they'll set a date quite quickly. I just hope that they give us enough time to examine everything properly and figure out what really happened all those years ago."

Minerva shivered. "I hope so, too, but it may not matter. The past is often far too good at keeping its secrets."

Dumbledore looked down at the sad and battered face of his friend, and while he truly wanted to disagree, he found that he couldn't really argue with that statement at all.

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**Next Chapter:** Dumbledore makes a visit to Amelia Bones and gets a peek into Minerva's past.


	33. A Glimpse of the Past

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirty Three: A Glimpse of the Past**

Snow drifted gently down outside the windows of Hogwarts, blanketing the castle and all those within with a fluffy harbinger of winter. Irma's mood, as she stood and watched it fall, was as black as the falling snow was white. It had been two days since Minerva had been bodily seized and dragged out of the castle to be taken off and thrown into the cold embrace of Azkaban prison, and her friend thought she'd go mad if she didn't hear something of her fate soon.

Two days of virtual silence. Dumbledore had tried to be encouraging, and she knew that he was attempting to get permission to go and see Minerva, to check on her, hopefully to help her, but Irma found it frustrating not to know if he'd succeeded or not. She'd only seen the Headmaster once since they'd talked in the entrance hall two days ago, and what he'd said then had been more confusing than comforting. He hadn't been at breakfast this morning, nor had half of the rest of the staff. Everyone was still a bit dazed by Minerva's unexpected arrest. The usual rhythms of the school had been thrown out of kilter; it felt as if the very heart of the castle had been torn out leaving a dying husk behind, which no one seemed to know how to cope with.

Slowly, Irma turned away from the window and returned to her desk. She sank down into her chair and simply stared off into space, having no clear idea just what she should be doing at the moment. Oh, there was the usual work to be done, but somehow it didn't seem as pressing anymore. There didn't seem to be any room in her mind for anything but Minerva. What was she doing? Was she in some cold, unpleasant cell? What had happened to her? Was she all right? Had they hurt her? Irma dropped her head into her hand and rubbed gently at her forehead. Somehow, she had to get past this mental fog she was in. It wasn't helping her to do her job nor was it helping her to discover anything about the fate of her friend.

Just then the door to the library opened, and Irma lifted her head, expecting to see an early student hoping to get some needed book before rushing off to class, but instead she saw an opportunity…in black.

Snape entered the library, nodded silently to her and crossed the room, disappearing into the stacks of the restricted section. Without stopping to think about it, Irma got to her feet and trailed after him. As she peered around the bookcases and looked down the long slender aisle between them, she saw the Potions master standing near the end of the aisle before the section that he usually frequented. His hand rested on the edge of one of the bookshelves, but he himself was staring off into space towards the nearest window, apparently as hypnotized by the falling snow as she'd been mere moments before.

Irma hesitated to approach him. Snape could be such a prickly person. You just never knew what you'd be confronted with when you spoke to him, but it seemed to her that next to the Headmaster, he was the most likely person to have some information about Minerva. He always seemed to know something about everything that happened around the school, and though he denied it, she couldn't completely shake the feeling that the man cared a lot more for the Transfigurations teacher than he'd admit. If so, then surely he'd want to know what was happening to her, and maybe, if asked politely, he might be willing to share some of that knowledge with her.

Taking a deep breath and straightening her robes determinedly, Irma started down the aisle to speak with Snape.

"Severus? May I have a word with you? Please?"

Her voice was soft and polite, but it obviously came as a surprise to the man in black because he was visibly startled as he turned back from wherever the window had taken him and focused his sharp eyes on her.

"Madam Pince." He drew a deep breath and released it slowly. "What can I do for you?"

"I was wondering if you'd had any news about Minerva. I haven't heard anything useful since she was taken away, and I know that the Headmaster was planning on asking permission to go and see her. I wondered if he'd succeeded and if he did, if you knew anything about it. You always seem so well informed about things." Her voice rose hopefully.

A flare of emotion flitted through his eyes for a brief moment, but before she could even begin to identify it, it was gone, leaving behind a face that could have been carved from granite for all the life it seemed to have in it.

"Albus was allowed to see her very briefly last evening. I don't really know the details."

Not exactly the truth since he'd ambushed the man upon his return and forced him to tell him even the tiniest nuance of his meeting with Minerva, but there was no reason to admit that publicly to anyone else.

"Oh." Irma's face fell slightly. "Well, do you know if she was all right at least? Had she been harmed in that awful place?"

Snape's expression darkened despite his attempt to keep it neutral, and he clenched his fists tightly within the concealing folds of his robe. He certainly called torn clothing, a bruised and bloodied face, evidence of physical pain and injury, not to mention evidence that she'd probably been threatened and terrorized, being harmed. Those moronic guards at the prison should be counting every breath they took because they had a limited number left to them even if they didn't realize it yet.

Aloud, he said, "Albus didn't talk much about her physical state, so I assume that she was not in need of medical attention. I really don't know anything else about her imprisonment that I can tell you."

Irma nodded reluctantly. "I see."

"Albus has been granted permission from the Ministry to act as her defending counsel during her trial," Snape added.

"Really?" Hope blossomed in Irma's voice. "That's wonderful. No one could do a better job than he could. Surely, he'll be able to convince the court that this is all some sort of mistake."

When Snape didn't respond, Irma spoke again. "This is all some sort of mistake, isn't it? I know that the Headmaster spoke of evidence of a crime from many years ago. Evidence brought to light by Ian Standish." Irma grimaced in distaste. "But surely it couldn't mean anything. That man was probably just trying to stir up trouble because Minerva didn't give him whatever it was that he wanted from her. Anyone with an ounce of sense would know that whatever he said should be taken with a grain of salt, maybe an entire shaker full."

Snape's eyes slid away from hers and when he still stood silently, not commenting on her observations, Irma began to get worried, and her concern and frustration bubbled over into more questions.

"Severus, the Headmaster wasn't specific as to what this evidence against Minerva was. Do you know what it is? Should we be worried? Why aren't you saying anything?"

The expression on Snape's face became far grimmer as he answered reluctantly, "The evidence against Minerva is very convincing. There is a pensieve full of memories that seem to belong to her. These memories show her actually killing the victim in question. Her wand, one that she freely admits was hers at that time, one that she…lost…many years ago, shows that the next to the last spell cast by it was Avada Kadavra."

Irma was shocked. "Could…could this evidence have somehow been created by Standish?" Nothing else would seem to make any sense. Minerva couldn't possibly actually kill someone. She simply couldn't.

Snape shook his head. "I have no idea. It doesn't seem as if it's possible, though I certainly wouldn't rule it out." Black brows drew together and lowered menacingly as he considered Standish and what the man was capable of.

"When is the trial?" Irma asked in a small voice.

"I don't think that's been decided yet."

"Will you be helping Albus to defend her?" Her eyes searched his face earnestly, seeking the reassurance that she didn't seem to be getting.

Snape's jaw tightened and his voice held a sharper edge. "Albus hardly needs my help to defend Minerva. He's not exactly a novice at this sort of thing."

"No, of course not, but I'd think he'd welcome all the help he could get. Especially if the evidence against her is really that convincing. Please, if there's anything that I can do to help in any way, don't hesitate to ask me. I want to be able to do something. She doesn't belong in Azkaban."

"No, she doesn't," he whispered softly. "On that point, we certainly agree."

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Dumbledore took a seat in the well-appointed office of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement and smiled politely.

"Thank you for letting me come and view the evidence against Minerva, Amelia. I appreciate your courtesy."

The square-jawed witch behind the highly polished desk in front of him nodded seriously.

"Of course, Albus. No one could expect you to do a proper job of defending Minerva if you haven't had a chance to view the evidence. As you well know, this is a common courtesy to extend. I certainly wouldn't want to deprive Minerva of her rights in any way."

Dumbledore nodded appreciatively. "I'm very glad to hear that. Does that mean that Minerva will also be able to view the contents of the pensieve? She would very much like to see them."

Amelia Bones raised an eyebrow. "I would argue that Minerva has already seen the contents of this particular pensieve. You won't disagree with me once you've seen them, I assure you. Clearly, they are her memories."

"Well, surely you won't argue that it has been fifty years since these particular memories were put into the pensieve in the first place. I don't know about you, but I often need to have my memory refreshed much sooner than that myself," Dumbledore said amiably.

Bones shrugged. "Nevertheless, they are her memories."

"Which she doesn't recall. It appears that all trace of these particular memories has been obliviated from her mind. As an examination by your court obliviators would show. Surely Minerva has a right to confront the evidence that you're trying to use to convict her of this crime?" Dumbledore's voice sharpened as Bones seemed determined to keep Minerva from seeing the pensieve of memories herself.

Bones sat back in her chair and frowned thoughtfully. "This is the first that I've heard of any claim by Minerva to have been obliviated."

"Haven't you questioned Minerva about this at all?" asked Dumbledore in surprise. "Isn't it proper procedure to try and obtain a statement from the accused before they're arrested and charged with a crime?"

Bones looked uncomfortable, and she shifted uneasily in her chair. "Ordinarily, that is the procedure, as you well know, and I will admit that things have been expedited more than usual in this case. However, once you've seen the evidence for yourself, Albus, you will no longer be able to accuse us of rushing to judgment without cause. From the evidence that we have to present, frankly a trial is almost a formality. You'll see what I mean once you've viewed the pensieve record. You're free to examine the wand as well, of course, and read the records we have that prove it to be Minerva's."

"So Minerva won't be allowed to view this most damning piece of evidence against her then?" None of this was the least bit encouraging.

"Minerva will be brought to the Ministry the day before her trial. If she wishes to see it then, she probably can do so, if there's time. I'm not at liberty to remove her from Azkaban and bring her here simply so she can peer into her past, and I'm certainly not going to authorize the transporting of valuable evidence all the way to the prison. There would be too much danger of damage to it. I'm afraid that's all I can do. You'll simply have to stand in for her, Albus. You'll be allowed to go out to the prison again before the trial. You can tell her what you saw then."

Reluctantly, Dumbledore nodded. "All right, Amelia."

The stern faced witch got up from behind her desk and gestured towards a connecting door. "I've had the wand and the pensieve placed on a table in the next room for you to view. Although I certainly trust you, Albus, a guard will remain inside the room at all times. Again, as you know, it's standard procedure. Once you've had a chance to view the evidence, feel free to ask me any questions that you have. I'll wait for you here."

Silently, Dumbledore rose from his seat, crossed the room and opened the door to the small antechamber that connected to Minister Bones' office. Inside were a single guard positioned next to a door that no doubt led out into the corridor beyond, and a long wooden table. On top of the table lay an ordinary wand, and a pensieve made of chipped white stone.

With a final nod to Amelia Bones, Dumbledore entered the small room and closed the door behind him. He crossed the intervening space and stared down at the stone bowl with its swirling, shining contents and strange runic decorations. A slight reluctance seized hold of the elder wizard, and he had to force himself to bend over and place his face into the contents of the bowl. He wasn't looking forward to this experience at all.

As was usual in pensieve viewing, there was a short period of disorientation, as if one was falling through the darkness of space, then Dumbledore found himself standing inside an unfamiliar building next to a much younger Minerva McGonagall. The young woman ignored his presence completely and moved forward with an expression of determination mixed with a bit of reluctance on her lovely face. Dumbledore followed in her footsteps, already knowing where they would take him.

They appeared to be in a stable. There was the heavy scent of animals in the air, and they were passing rows of stalls as their feet moved along a rough wooden floor strewn with straw. Some of the stalls were empty, while others contained horses that paid no attention to their passing at all.

Minerva stopped near a cross passage and opened her mouth. Clearly, she called out, but no sound could be heard. In fact, Dumbledore suddenly realized that unlike every other pensieve experience he'd ever had, this one was totally silent. None of the usual natural sounds of life could be heard. No footsteps, no stirring of the animals, no voices. Absolutely nothing at all.

Suddenly, a man of medium height and build with sandy hair and rather cold looking gray eyes appeared out of one of the stalls. A look of surprise crossed his face as he saw Minerva, but it was quickly replaced with a slightly impertinent smirk. There was certainly no fear in his expression, if anything, he appeared to anticipate a meeting quite eagerly. As he approached her, he wiped his hands on a piece of toweling, which he casually cast aside when he stood before her.

Minerva frowned and spoke to him. Seemingly puzzled by her words, he frowned slightly in return. Then he shook his head, appearing to answer negatively. She spoke again and abruptly drew her wand, aiming it towards the man. Dumbledore moved forward to get a good look at their confrontation, but found it confusing without any real hint of what they were saying to each other.

The man, who must be Henry Grant, raised his empty hands and backed away from Minerva, shaking his head. As he backed off, she advanced slowly in time to his steps away so the distance between them didn't diminish at all. It almost appears as if they were doing some old fashioned sort of dancing.

Both of them seemed to be doing a lot of talking, and neither looked particularly pleased at what the other was saying. Unfortunately, they were doing it much too quickly for Dumbledore to even guess at what they might be talking about. Suddenly, Minerva jerked her wand upward and, aiming it at Grant's chest; she stated something emphatically, and a bluish green flash erupted from the end of her wand. The bright aura enveloped the cringing man, who simply stopped and dropped lifelessly to the floor.

Dumbledore glanced down at Grant's face, but it was very clear that the man was dead. Then he raised his eyes and looked at Minerva. He half expected to see an expression of relief or satisfaction on her face, but what he saw was vivid shock. With a growing look of horror, she stared down at Grant's lifeless body with wide eyes. Then she gave the wand in her hand an incredulous look as if checking to see that it was indeed hers and not an unknown weapon of some sort. Her body began to shake, and the wand dropped from her now trembling fingers as she stepped forward and knelt down next to the corpse sprawled on the straw, pressing anxiously at his throat to check for a pulse that, quite obviously, was not there to be found.

Then suddenly the scene changed. There was an abrupt moment of disorientation and then Dumbledore found himself standing in much the same place as before, but now Minerva was standing as well. She seemed much calmer and was no longer trembling, but her face looked slightly puffy and tear streaked. Some unknown amount time had definitely passed, but there was no way to determine how much.

With an infinitely sad expression, she stood still for a moment and simply looked down at the body by her feet, running a nervous hand back and forth across her abdomen as she did so; then very slowly, she raised her right hand and aimed her wand at the earthly remains of Henry Grant. Her silent lips spoke some sort of incantation and immediately the body began to shrink and change. In extremely short order, there was no longer the body of a man lying on the dusty floor of the stable. In its place lay an ordinary log, such as one might cut for the fireplace.

Dumbledore pulled himself back out of the pensieve with a troubled expression on his face. Obviously, these were Minerva's memories, as Bones had stated; there couldn't be any doubt about that. The young woman who'd aimed her wand at Henry Grant and killed him was definitely Minerva, but from what he could see, she hadn't meant to kill him. As she'd stared down at his lifeless body, the expression on her face was one of horror and confusion. Clearly, she hadn't intended for Grant to die, yet anyone who casts Avada Kadavra intends for their victim to die, don't they? That is an integral part of making the spell work. Puzzling, indeed.

With a frown, Dumbledore picked up the wand that lay next to the pensieve. It took only a moment to perform the proper spell to bring out the ghosts of spells cast. First, there was the image of the transfiguration…clear and sharp. It was followed by the death of Grant, played out for him to watch again, though the image wavered a bit. It didn't seem to have quite the clarity of the previous spell.

With careful precision, Dumbledore continued back through several more spells. Each was quite ordinary, and all of them replayed sharply for his view. With a thoughtful expression on his face, he set the wand down next to the pensieve once more. Then he nodded respectfully to the watching guard, and turned to go back and confront Amelia.

When Dumbledore entered her office once more, Amelia Bones rose to her feet and regarded him with a sad expression on her broad face.

"It's difficult to watch, isn't it?" she asked quietly.

The Headmaster nodded. "Yes…a bit puzzling, too. Surely, you don't deny that Minerva doesn't appear to have expected Grant to die? The look on her face is clearly one of shock."

Bones sighed. "I will admit that she looked surprised, but I might have too the first time I cast a spell like that. Even if we intend for something to happen, sometimes it is rather shocking to actually confront the results of our actions. I can't let Minerva off simply because she didn't gloat over the body of her victim. He was clearly dead at her hand, and then she stood there and very deliberately transformed his body into a log for her fire. I'm sorry, Albus, but from what I was able to see, Minerva is guilty."

"Perhaps, but the image has obviously been altered. Pieces of the memory seem to have been removed," Dumbledore said.

"If you're referring to the part that would have taken place between the murder and the transfiguration, I imagine that those memories were never there in the first place, but if they have been removed, there's no way to know who removed them. The most logical person to have done so would be Minerva herself."

"Why do you suppose there's no sound to the memories? I've never run across any other pensieve preserved memories that don't have sound. I find that very odd." He was curious to see how they intended to explain this aberration.

Bones shrugged. "I never have either, but that doesn't mean that there's anything sinister about it. These memories are very old. Most people don't expect to keep memories in a pensieve for fifty years or more. Perhaps age has worked against us and the magical mechanism in the pensieve has simply malfunctioned. I don't think it matters."

Dumbledore considered her thoughtfully. "Perhaps...then again, perhaps it matters a great deal, and we simply don't know why yet." He emitted a soft sigh.

"None of this makes any sense, you know," he added. "Even if this happened the way you're assuming, it makes no sense for Minerva to place these memories in this pensieve and then lose track of it. The logical move would have been to destroy the thing entirely, or, at the very least, to have kept it with her. Leaving it for her ex-husband to find is totally illogical. You've known Minerva for years, Amelia. Does that strike you as something that she'd do?"

A flash of uncertainty crossed Bones' face. "No. Actually, it doesn't, but then I never would have expected her to commit a crime like this either. Who knows why we do some of the things we do, Albus? Minerva was very young at the time. Obviously, she acted in haste…wasn't thinking clearly. She put the pensieve into hiding and then forgot it was even there when she and Ian divorced and she left his home. How the pensieve came to be found where it was is really irrelevant."

"Is it?" Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "I wouldn't be so sure of that. Not at all."

Bones shifted uncomfortably, rustling her stiff robes but said nothing.

Dumbledore sighed once more. Clearly he wasn't going to be changing her mind at the moment; there was no point in continuing with this now. "At any rate, thank you for letting me make an examination of the evidence. I'll be in touch to arrange another visit to Azkaban."

He nodded to her and turned towards the door, but she stopped him with a word and turned him back. "Two more things before you go, Albus. A date has been set for the trial. It will begin Monday morning. That gives you just five days. I know that's not a lot of time, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do to change it. The decision wasn't mine."

As he nodded grimly, she picked up a sheet of parchment from her desk and handed it to him. "Then there's this. I thought you should know as soon as possible."

That sounded ominous. Dumbledore took the parchment somewhat reluctantly and read it over quickly, raising shocked eyes to hers when he was finished.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid we are. The decree just became law a short while ago. It's been in the works for sometime. I think that Minister Gallagher simply felt that now was the time to implement it." Bones clipped off her words and pressed her lips together into a thin line as if she was trying to hold back further commentary.

"Because Minerva could serve as his first example, I suppose. You've known Minerva almost as long as I have Amelia. How can you truly believe her guilty of murder or deserving of punishment this cruel? Even if she's convicted, she's lived an exemplary life for over half a century, helped and educated countless productive members of our society, surely that should count for something. She doesn't deserve to be treated this way."

Bones looked uncomfortable once more and her monocle flashed blindly in the glare from her office lamps. Her voice was softer as she answered, "I know Albus, and I'm sorry, but it's out of my hands. Besides, if you do your job properly, it won't matter, will it?"

Dumbledore straightened up determinedly. "No, it won't. I know that it doesn't look good at the moment, but somehow I will prove that you're wrong about all of this."

Bones nodded soberly. "I truly hope that you can."

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**Next Chapter:** Snape does something he never, ever thought he'd do in order to get a glimpse of Minerva.


	34. The Lengths We Go To

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirty Four: The Lengths We Go To…**

Propelled by his emotions, Snape slammed his door firmly behind him and then forced himself to stand stock still in the middle of his sitting room. His fingers clenched and unclenched spasmodically. The urge to begin to snatch breakables from their perches and fling them against unyielding surfaces was almost too tempting to ignore. He needed to do something.

This waiting around and being useless was driving him insane. Minerva was out there enduring who knew what indignities, and here he stood doing nothing! Albus had returned from seeing Amelia Bones in a rather subdued mood. He'd spoken briefly with him, but the Headmaster had basically put him off, professing that he didn't have the time right then to tell him if he'd learned anything of value or not. In fact, he seemed rather troubled by his visit to the Ministry. Which certainly didn't bode well for Minerva. Though the last thing Snape had wanted to do was wait any more, they'd set up a meeting to discuss Minerva and her situation first thing in the morning, but now he had all night to get through first. Far too many empty hours to fill and nothing concrete to fill them with.

His restless eyes scanned his chambers for occupation. With quick steps, he approached his mantel and picked up the wand that lay on top. He held it awkwardly in his hands. It wasn't his, and it was obvious to his touch. A wand's connection to its owner was immediate and deep. There was an innate rightness that made it tingle with a special warmth when held in the hand it belonged to. Magic flowed through the body and was channeled and focused by the resonance chambers of these elegant wooden rods. Each one was special to its owner. Another witch or wizard, especially the more powerful ones, could easily use the wand of another, yet somehow their full potential couldn't ever quite flower completely through the use of a borrowed wand.

He slid the slim polished wood through his fingers thoughtfully, turning it slowly and watching the candlelight gleam off its smooth surface. Did the bond go both ways? Once a witch or wizard took up a wand and began to use it, did a part of themselves become housed within? Their own magic, that which came from deep within themselves, must become lodged within these wands to some degree. Would this one always hold a piece of Minerva in its core?

He missed her.

It was an admission not made easily. Only two days had passed, but to his dismay, he found the hole torn in the tangled web of his life was much larger than he ever imagined it would be. No one person was supposed to occupy a position so much more important than any other. Giving anyone, no matter how benign, power over your life was simply the act of a fool, something he'd never fancied himself to be. And yet, here he stood holding her wand in his hands and wishing that it was her that he held instead.

What was happening to her? Albus spoke with controlled anger of her cuts and bruises, her torn robes and disheveled appearance. They were abusing her in that wretched prison. He was as certain of it as he was that the sun would rise in the east, but there wasn't a damned thing that he could do to stop it. Here, he was master of his domain, he could rage and shout and take points from the various ham-handed students who occupied his classes and wandered through his days, but he had no control over this, no power to change this, which mattered so much more.

If only there was a way to see her. He couldn't take the chance of accompanying Albus to Azkaban though, even if it was allowed. If the wrong people got suspicious of his motives or sympathies, it could prove a very real danger, and that would help no one, least of all himself. Self preservation would not allow for stupidity. So here he stood…impotent.

As he continued to stare at her wand, an expression of consideration settled onto his features. Perhaps, there was a way. It would involve some sacrifice on his part, but wasn't the end result worth the pain? It might be, if there was a chance that it would work. He held the wand up in his hand and twirled it before his eyes. It was worth a try at any rate. So before he could reconsider and possibly change his mind, he replaced the wand on the mantelpiece and left his chambers.

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As Snape frowned up at the trap door with the polished brass plaque on it, he realized that he had no idea how one normally made contact with Sibyll Trelawney. Indeed, avoiding contact was usually far higher on his list of things to do, but circumstances change, and now that he'd climbed all the way up here, he'd be truly annoyed if it turned out to be nothing more than a bloody waste of time.

As he was contemplating how best to knock on a door that was several feet above his head, it opened on its own and a silvery ladder snaked down to land silently at his feet.

An ethereal voice floated down to him on a cloud of incense so thick it would asphyxiate any bird caught in its midst. "Come up, come up, dear Severus. What a lovely surprise. When I foresaw your visit in the dregs of my afternoon tea, I was ever so pleased! I knew that you'd come to consult me sooner or later, you know."

Snape gritted his teeth at the smug sound of her voice. This was going to be more difficult to pull off than he'd imagined. The possibility that he could end up in the cell next to Minerva's loomed large in his mind. Not that that was what he'd had in mind when he came up here, but when dealing with Trelawney, murder was often a 50/50 proposition.

Trying to mute his annoyance, the Potions master took a deep breath, schooled his features into a minor scowl, and began his ascent into the aerie. When he stood on a solid foundation once more, he found himself staring straight into the beaming face of the Divinations mistress herself.

"So nice of you to come for a visit, Severus. Please, why don't you come into my private sitting room where we can be more cozy than here in the classroom."

Grinning from ear to ear, she shepherded him away from the trapdoor, which he was slightly dismayed to see her shut quite firmly, and off through this murky red room that she laughingly referred to as a classroom. Beads, scarves, candles and squashy pillows seemed to make up the décor. Not that he'd have expected anything else considering the gaudy selection of gewgaws that she used to decorate her person.

The sitting room that he now found himself bodily propelled into was a bit less fantastic than the classroom, thank heavens, though it was only a matter of degree. The worst of the scarves and poufs were missing, at least, and it was lit by a cheery, crackling fire instead of the red draped lamps, but the cloudy atmosphere was stifling, and he had this depressing feeling that he'd just made a large tactical error by coming here.

Before he knew it, he was being ushered into a floral print armchair that was hideously soft. His body sank deeply into the cushions, and he knew that escape from the clutches of its depths wouldn't be easy.

Sibyll hovered over him anxiously, smiling her Cheshire cat smile, the many strings of beads that she wore rattled against his arm like the warding charms of a native witch doctor. "Now, my dear. May I get you some tea?"

So you can peer into my life and make insinuations? Not bloody likely, he thought savagely. The shorter he could make this visit, the better.

"No," he exclaimed firmly. "Thank you," he added as an afterthought. He did want something from her, after all. No sense alienating her too quickly. "I came to ask you something."

"Oh?" She eyed him expectantly as she dropped into the neighboring armchair with a flutter of gauzy material.

"Yes. When I was in the infirmary, Minerva…"

Before he could get another word out, Sibyll fluttered her hands excitedly and jumped to her feet again. "Of course, of course, you're wondering about the fate of our dear colleague just like the rest of us. And how sensible of you to come to me to put your mind at rest."

She swiftly turned to a large wooden cabinet painted with twinkling stars that loomed almost menacingly in a corner of the room. As she opened the door, she continued to gibber, "I'll be happy to gaze into the crystal and see if I can determine her future for you. I've been very tempted to do it myself, of course, but I've refrained so far out of a fear that the news I uncovered might not turn out to be very pleasant. However, for you, dear Severus, I'm willing to take that chance."

Flipping her mass of frizzled hair over her shoulder coquettishly, she simpered at him through her enormous magnifying spectacles. Then she pulled a large crystal ball on a gaudy brass stand out of the cabinet and thumped it firmly down onto a low table in front of the chair in which he sat.

Snape tried with only moderate success to pull himself up out of the depths of his cushions. "No. You misunderstand me. Something which could easily be avoided if you'd simply let me finish my sentence," he growled peevishly.

Her face fell dramatically. "You mean you aren't here to discover what's happening to Minerva? Oh, dear…I was so sure…"

Actually, that was exactly why he was there, but he certainly wasn't about to admit that to her.

"As I was saying before you interrupted, when I was in the infirmary, Minerva brought me your scrying pool to use as a viewer for the Quidditch match."

She brightened up once more. "Oh, yes. Minerva has been quite happy to use the pool for that. I've always let her, of course, in the spirit of cooperation and the hope that she'd begin to come around to the understanding that Divination and its tools can be a wonderful help in all our everyday lives."

A dramatic sigh escaped her lips and her hand fluttered to her breast and began to toy with a strand of bright orange beads. "Poor Minerva has always been a bit…skeptical…of my talents, I think. Though she's tried to hide it. I've been hoping that this gesture of cooperation on my part might serve to open her mind a bit more. Do you think it's working?" She stared earnestly down at him.

He hesitated fractionally and then smiled a thin smile. "I'm sure that Minerva accurately appreciates your value to the school. I shouldn't be concerned about that, if I were you. Now, as I was saying, the viewer was very helpful to me. With Minerva gone, my duties have picked up a bit, and I find myself much more busy at the moment than I'd planned to be right now. There is a Potions lecture in London that I intended to attend, but now that I cannot go in person, I was wondering if I couldn't borrow the pool and perhaps view the lecture through it. Would the scrying pool have the range to pull in a view of something from that far away?"

A rattling rent the air again as Sibyll's head bobbed enthusiastically. "Oh, yes it should. And if you want to be sure, placing something connected to the lecture, perhaps a brochure or a notice of time or place, inside the pool before you fill and charm it, will help to focus its energies on the desired location."

With a tremendous effort, Snape hauled himself out of the hideous chair and attained his feet once more. "Excellent. As I do need to use it this evening, could you show me where it is now, perhaps?"

"Now?" She looked surprised. "I hoped we could have a bit of a visit. Surely the lecture isn't tonight? It's getting rather late for that."

"It's a three day symposium. There will be some opening remarks presented later this evening that I'd like to catch as well."

"Oh, I see. Well, all right. You'll need to follow me though. The pool isn't kept up here; it's housed below, down in my storeroom. This way." She waved a languid hand in his direction and turned to jangle her way out of the sitting room and back into the main classroom once more.

With a faint sigh of relief, Snape followed her back through the lurid red room to an unobtrusive door hiding behind a gauzy wall hanging. Sibyll pushed the hanging out of the way, opened the door and stepped onto a stone landing. "Mind your step now. These stairs are a bit steep," she warned, as she turned and descended the spiral steps into the torch lit darkness below.

Trailing a steadying hand against the wall, Snape followed her down the somewhat uneven staircase and into a semi circular room full of odd objects on stands. The room was lit by floating magical candles, and their bobbing created rather creepy shadows across the odd landscape of the chamber.

In the middle of the room, on a tall brass stand in the shape of a naked mermaid, stood the object of his mission. The mermaid's hands clasped the bowl over her head like an offering dish. For a moment, he almost expected to see the inside of it littered with coins.

Sibyll gestured to the pool. "There you go, Severus. I'm sure that it will work well for you. I've used it myself to view distant events, and the quality of the picture is truly marvelous. Although, I just thought of something, the pool isn't very reliable when it comes to sounds. Although it works reasonably well here within the castle, I'm quite certain that it won't allow you to hear what's said over such a long distance. How are you going to listen to your lecture without sound?"

Snape froze, his hands in the process of reaching for the pool. Damn it. He'd forgotten that little detail. He'd noticed himself that the sound had been faint and sketchy when he'd watched the Quidditch match. Apparently, visuals were easier for the pool to pick up than sounds were over long distances. Slowly, he turned back to the now frowning woman and attempted a smile. "Of course, I was aware of that limitation. However, this conference is always attended by a fairly prominent member of the society, who happens to be deaf. As a result, everyone is required to magically caption his or her lectures. I should be able to read the lecture right out of the viewer."

He watched her carefully; just how gullible was she, anyway? Apparently gullible enough to suit his purposes because her face lit up like a Great Hall Halloween pumpkin. "Oh, what a splendid idea! I wish they'd do that at some of the conferences that I attend. I always get stuck at the back sitting behind some witch or wizard who refuses to stay silent while the talk is going on."

He nodded and heaved the pool up into his arms. Great Merlin, the bloody thing weighed a ton! How in hell had Minerva carried it all the way down to the infirmary?

"How shall I get the pool out of here, if I may ask? Surely I don't have to take it back up and down through that trapdoor, do I?" Oh, please, let there be another way.

Instantly, she flew across the room and caressed a blank section of the wall. "Oh no. There's a back entrance right here. Then all you need to do is carry it right down the stairs."

Oh yes, all twelve or so flights of them.

She hesitated. "Are you sure that you couldn't spare a little more time for a visit? You know, I believe that this is the very first time that you've ever come up here to see me, and I do hate to have you leave so soon. I get down to the main castle so seldom that I don't usually even know what's going on with everyone else."

He raised an eyebrow. Surely the daft cow didn't expect him to stand here holding this monumental birdbath while he caught her up on a selection of the latest gossip?

"Really, Sibyll? That surprises me. With this pool at your fingertips, I'd think it would be child's play for you to peek into the everyday affairs of the castle's inhabitants. Do you, in fact, ever use the pool for that purpose?" His eyes gleamed, and he tilted his head and smiled a knowing smile at her.

Her face flushed a rather unbecoming shade of plum, and she hurriedly activated whatever catch held the concealed door closed behind her. As the door opened onto the circular landing at the top of her staircase, she stepped out of his way and murmured, "Of course not, Severus. That would be unethical."

"Yes, I suppose it would. A pity, though. Thank you again, Sibyll. I will return the viewer in a few days. Goodnight." He swept past her awkward figure and off down the stairs to begin the tedious task of hauling his treasure all the way down to the far too distant dungeon.

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Snape set Minerva's wand in the middle of the scrying pool and filled the basin with water from a pewter pitcher. Then he set the pitcher aside and picked up his own wand from the desktop. Getting the pool down here to his quarters had taken a bit of doing. For some reason, the damned thing seemed to get heavier and heavier the farther he carried it. The trip from the towers to the dungeons had never seemed longer. He was unused to such physically arduous tasks it appeared. There were times when magic made things a bit too easy apparently. Perhaps some sort of exercise program would be in order for the future. However, right now he had other things to focus his thoughts on. Such as whether he could get this fool thing to show him Minerva or not.

There was a distinct chance that this wouldn't work for a variety of reasons. Distance was certainly one of them. The middle of the North Sea was a considerable distance away. Though if anything was powerful enough to focus in on Minerva, it should be her wand, so he had a feeling that wouldn't end up being a problem.

Then there was also the chance that those who protected Azkaban wouldn't allow the viewer to bypass all of its wards and protective spells and get a glimpse within its walls. He just had to hope that this was something that no one had ever thought to guard against. After all, most people no doubt thought as he had, that these devices were good for nothing but allowing so called seers to look at their much admired reflections in their glassy surfaces.

Ah, well, enough speculation. Time to give it a try. Swiftly, he cast a magic mirror spell and watched as the water stiffened and the surface of the pool became glassy and clear. Then he tilted the mirror up and began to try to focus in on Azkaban and the cell he needed to see into.

The spells worked more easily than he'd have thought they would, and in merely a moment, he was watching her standing there in front of his eyes. She stood next to a rather lumpy looking cot and stared out through a narrow window towards the dark sea beyond. There couldn't possibly be anything that she could be watching out there, and indeed from the expression on her pale face, he suspected that her vision was actually turned inward for all that her eyes stared off into the night.

A slight shiver ran through him as he observed her appearance. As he'd feared, Albus had downplayed her injuries. Her face was quite swollen on one side and one cheek was a hideous purplish black. Her usually lustrous hair hung tangled and limp down her back and the slump of her shoulders and downcast expression gave her an air of fragility that was very unlike the woman he knew so well. He could feel anger beginning to build within him. Perhaps this hadn't been a good idea after all. To see but not be able to touch or help…or even hear…

Suddenly, she jumped and cast a startled glance over her shoulder, an expression of fear shining from her eyes. Swiftly, she turned around and pressed herself back against the wall of the cell staring at something that was outside his view. He knew if he took the time to try to adjust the point of view that he'd probably miss whatever was going to happen next so he simply clenched his fists impotently and waited.

There wasn't long to wait. A tall somewhat gangly figure of a guard moved in front of Minerva holding a bowl in one hand. He gestured with the bowl, and hesitantly, she reached out to take it from him. As soon as her fingers touched the bowl's surface, the guard seized her arm and pulled her roughly towards him. The bowl slipped from her grasp to fall unnoticed to the floor as Minerva began to try to push the guard off of her.

The taller and obviously stronger man shoved her viciously back against the stones. Snape growled to himself as he watched her head bounce sharply off the wall. Obviously dazed and in pain, she ceased her resistance for a moment and the guard took advantage of her pain to pull her against him once more and force a savage kiss on her mouth. Minerva's hands came up abruptly, and she dug her fingertips deeply into the muscles of the man's arm. With an expression of fury on his face, Snape watched her begin to struggle futilely with her assailant.

Then suddenly, the man shoved her back towards the wall again, turning away from her with a sneering expression on his face. Pausing momentarily to kick at the remains of her dinner, he said something to her that she answered with vehemence. Whatever she said only provoked more laughter. Then the guard turned on his heel and left the confines of the viewer and presumably the cell as well.

With a despairing look in her eye, Minerva sank down onto the cot staring at nothing for a long moment. Then her eyes dropped to the floor at her feet. Slowly, she bent down and picked up the bowl from the floor and held it in a trembling hand. Hesitantly, she ran a finger around the inside of it, scooping out the remnants of whatever had been inside. Raising it to her lips, she placed what remained of her meal in her mouth. Once she'd swallowed what little food had stayed in the bowl, she took the bowl and with a flash of renewed anger threw it as hard as she could across her cell.

The battered woman leaned back against the wall and simply stared once more at nothing. A single tear rolled down her cheek; then abruptly, she shook herself hard and wiped angrily at her face with trembling hands. With a deep sigh, she grasped the ragged blankets that were piled on the cot, wrapped herself up in them, and let her thin form sink down onto the mattress, and curling up into a ball, she closed her eyes.

By this time, Snape was gripping his wand so tightly that he had to pry his own fingers off it in order to keep from snapping it in two. As a snarl escaped his lips, he dropped the wand and, with a sweep of his long arm, he shoved every book on the shelf above his desk as hard as he could propel them. The books scattered widely across the near expanse of floor and made satisfying thuds as they hit the uncarpeted stones.

Angrily, he began to pace up and down in the small space allowed him. Damn his inability to do anything but watch this travesty! What good was all the power at his command if he couldn't use any of it to do what he truly longed to do? He couldn't even hear whatever that damned guard had said to her, nor hear her answer in return. That limitation of the viewer suddenly rankled more than he'd thought it would. Where once he'd have thought that seeing her face would have been enough, now he found he needed to hear her voice and the voices of those around her as well. The better to identify them for a later time when their paths might cross his to their detriment, he thought darkly.

A sudden thought struck the furious man, and he turned back to the viewer with narrowed eyes. A lack of sound had been a prominent feature in that pensieve copy that he'd seen, too. This viewer wasn't able to produce sound under these circumstances, but was that true of the copy? Had the original pensieve had sound? They always did in his experience, but what if this one hadn't? What might it mean?

Without sound, he wasn't able to hear what the guard said to Minerva, nor her response in return. He hadn't heard what Minerva and Grant had said to each other in that stable so long ago either. Did it matter? Perhaps. Everyone who viewed the contents of that pensieve copy thought that they could tell what was happening simply by watching, but really so much of it was mere speculation, and the one person who would know what really happened, no longer possessed the memories in question. How convenient.

He shook his head. Was this important or wasn't it? It wasn't really possible to know, but he was certainly going to ask Albus about it in the morning. If the original pensieve was also silent, then odds were good that someone had wanted it to be, and the only reason for that would be to hide whatever Minerva and Grant had actually said to each other. In which case, it apparently mattered a great deal.

His eyes drifted back to the viewer, which was still focused on the now apparently sleeping form of Minerva. Soberly, he returned to his desk and sank slowly into his chair. Crossing his arms over his chest, he settled in to think and to keep watch over her as best he could.

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**Next Chapter:** Snape remembers something of value, and Minerva gets some bad news.


	35. Two Steps Forward One Step Back

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirty Five: Two Steps Forward; One Step Back **

With a look of impatience on his pale, narrow face, Snape rose from the breakfast table and exited through the back of the hall. He'd only bothered to come to breakfast at all because the Headmaster had implied that he'd be there, and that they could go up to his office together after it was over, but the man hadn't shown up, so there was certainly no reason to stay. It's not as if he had any appetite at the moment. Idly, he wondered what would have kept the old man from his morning pastries. Perhaps he simply preferred to have them delivered to his rooms today. At any rate, it was time to find out. He'd said after breakfast, well, breakfast had ended as far as Snape was concerned.

He'd spent half the night sitting up and watching over Minerva, who hadn't slept any better than he had. Her early slumber had only lasted for a short while then she'd suddenly awoken with what appeared to be a cry of fear. With everything she was going through in that dismal place, it was no wonder that she was having nightmares. Once awakened, she'd paced her cell into the wee hours of the morning, reminding him of a lioness held in captivity, and making him painfully aware of her rather pronounced limp, before finally falling into a restless sleep that had lasted only until dawn. The limp worried him. What unknown injuries did she have hidden away beneath that horrid shroud they'd given her to wear? The question angered him all the more because there was no way to answer it.

Though Minerva had gotten some short periods of sleep, he himself had merely dozed fitfully. Every time he'd drift off for a moment, he'd suddenly jerked himself back to reality to check on her and be sure that nothing had changed. Having that window into her world had just aggravated his usual insomnia. Even though there was nothing he could've done to help her if some crisis had occurred, he nevertheless found it impossible to leave the viewer alone and seek a more comfortable rest in his bed; so instead, he'd stayed at his desk all night, and he was feeling the effects of that choice this morning in an increase in his intolerance for anything and everyone who crossed his path.

On his way up through the castle, he managed to find a multitude of reasons to take thirty points from Gryffindor, eighteen from Hufflepuff, and five from Ravenclaw. Not bad for this early in the morning. Indeed, if any of his own students had been found on the upper floors of the castle at this early hour, he just might have taken a point or two from Slytherin as well.

As he headed for the Headmaster's office, he came to the conclusion that it was just as well that they hadn't had breakfast together and gone straight back upstairs for their meeting. Because there was something that he needed to retrieve before he saw Dumbledore this morning. Time was growing short, and no matter what evidence Albus had viewed while at Amelia Bones' office, there was still something important that he needed to have him see.

When Snape was finally standing before Minerva's quarters, he irrationally found himself slightly reluctant to enter them in her absence. An absurd feeling that he really didn't have time to indulge. He was here to help her. That was all that should matter. It wasn't as if she'd have denied him, entrance, after all. Impatient with his foolishness, he withdrew his wand and removed the wards. She hadn't bothered to reinstall her own, so the last ones set to protect her quarters were those he'd set himself before he went down to his dungeon to obtain the sober-up potion for her during his last few minutes of ignorance concerning her situation.

Once he removed the wards, he entered her rooms and closed the door behind him. The room hadn't been touched since she'd left. Once she'd been arrested, it hadn't seemed to make any sense to send her things back to her family home, so her trunks still sat packed and ready for her return.

The reason he was here, however, rested inside the large roll top desk against the far wall, but as he began to cross the room, his attention drifted instead towards the open door of the bedroom and, without consciously intending to, his feet followed suit. Awkwardly, he stood in the doorway and looked across the room at the still rumpled bed. Neither of them had thought to make it after their last night together, and apparently with her gone, no house-elf had come to these rooms to do its usual job either.

Without warning, a vivid picture of her smiling face sprang to his mind, filling his field of vision and eliciting a slight gasp at its sudden appearance. For just a moment, she seemed so real…and once more within his grasp. He could hear her laughter, see the mischievous sparkle in her eyes, feel the warmth of her hands as they slid down the expanse of his naked body, evoking feelings that somehow no other woman had ever managed to bring forth. He'd thought that was due to her experience, her skill, and her enjoyment of their couplings, but now he feared it was more than that.

Closing his eyes, he let her image fall back beneath the surface of his mind. He missed her, and he wanted her back. Somehow, he had to find a way to protect her, to help her to escape from this fate, which seemed so determined to destroy her. He…cared about her. Something he swore he'd never do. Yet here he was once more, longing for her presence. Somehow, and he didn't have the vaguest idea how, she'd managed to slip into his heart and, once inside, had found it not as echoingly empty a chamber as he'd always tried to make it.

Angrily, he gave himself a firm shake. This foolish sentimentality was solving nothing. He could stand and wish for her until Filch became a wizard, and it wouldn't make it so. It was time to occupy his thoughts more productively, and see if there wasn't something that could be done to actually bring her home. Then he wouldn't have to wish for her presence beside him; he'd have her, and heaven help anyone who tried to take her away from him again.

With a new determination, Snape turned away from the memories of the bedroom and crossed the sitting room to her desk. Raising the top, he reached within and grasped the pensieve copy in his hands. Time to take this to Dumbledore and find out what was really going on. There was a mystery attached to the recording held within this crude container of stone, and he was going to solve it. Before it was too late.

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With a slight thump, Snape set the pensieve copy down on the desk in front of Dumbledore. The older man looked at the crude stone bowl with curiosity.

"What is this, Severus?"

"It's the recording that Standish made of the memories that were contained in that pensieve that he turned over to the authorities. I told you about it, but I would appreciate it if you'd watch it," Snape stated firmly.

Dumbledore raised his eyes to those of his Potions master. "Why do you think it's important for me to see it? I've now seen the original."

Snape's lips drew into a discontented line. "Yes, but I haven't, and I want to know how they compare. Every time I watch the contents of this thing play themselves out, something nags at me, something I should remember, but can't for some reason. Since I am not to be allowed to view the original record, this copy is all I have to go on. I need to know if this is indeed an exact duplicate."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "All right. How does one activate this device?"

Snape drew his wand and prodded the slight indentation on the side of the copy. "You can't enter these images. You can only watch from outside," he added before falling silent as the two of them watched the pictures of Minerva and Henry Grant come to life once more from so many years ago.

Once the recording had run its course, Dumbledore looked up into the slightly troubled face that watched him so avidly. "They appear to be identical to me, Severus," he stated flatly.

"In all ways? Is the original pensieve of memories also silent?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, it is. Amelia seems to think that the magical mechanism has simply failed after so many years, but I find I cannot believe that explanation."

Snape began to pace back and forth in front of the desk. This confirmed his suspicions, but what did it really mean? "No. Pensieves don't simply lose their sound. They are constructed to hold a memory untouched and unaltered for as long as anyone would wish. Any pensieve should certainly last more than fifty years, unless someone deliberately altered it."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and considered this line of thought. "I wasn't aware that a pensieve could be altered. Memories can be added and removed easily, but what is seen and heard while they're in the pensieve, should remain inviolate. Otherwise, what would be the point?"

"I agree." Snape nodded. "However, the key word appears to be "should". Someone, and I don't think either of us need think too hard in order to know who that someone is since obviously the only logical choice is Ian Standish, has found a way to remove the sound from a pensieve. It shouldn't be impossible to do; it's simply something that most people have never had any reason to attempt before. I think that Standish did have a compelling reason to do it, and he's had fifty years to work on it. How it was done isn't really important, anyway. The important point is why was it done."

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. "Having sound would remove any doubt about what went on between Minerva and Grant. If things were exactly as they seem to be, there wouldn't be any reason to remove the sound."

"Exactly. But the sound was removed. Therefore, it must mean that if we could hear what the two of them said to each other, it would change the way we think about what we're seeing."

"In the original pensieve, you aren't limited to seeing only through Minerva's eyes. When I was inside the memories, I was able to watch her face after Grant fell. She was shocked and horrified. It was almost as if she'd cast the killing curse by accident, as if she'd never intended for Grant to die at all."

Snape frowned. "To properly cast the killing curse, you have to intend to kill. Simply intending to harm won't work. That curse works through intent as much as anything else. If she didn't intend to kill Grant, then he wouldn't be dead…unless…" His voice trailed off thoughtfully and a frustrated grimace crossed his features once more. "There's something…" he whispered.

Abruptly, he turned and placed his hands on the desk, leaning back over the copy. "We need to play it again. I think I know."

Suddenly hopeful, Dumbledore activated the little viewer once more, and they watched it together again. Nothing seemed to have changed as far as he could see, but Snape seemed moderately excited when the recording concluded. "Did you see that? When she cast the Avada Kadavra? The flash…did you notice the color of the flash? The killing curse always produces a brilliant emerald green flash. The flash that accompanied Minerva's spell was a washed out bluish green. Not the same at all."

Dumbledore nodded. "Perhaps the image has faded with age?"

Snape snorted derisively. "As the sound did? No. It's not the same spell."

"But no other spell causes quite that same reaction in a victim. Grant was simply dead. No writhing in pain…no lingering…no suffering. He simply fell over and died. That's Avada Kadavra. There is no other spell that kills quite like that. Besides, that's the spell that shows up in Minerva's wand." Pausing for a moment, Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully before continuing, "Though there was something odd with that as well. The killing curse didn't seem to be as sharp and clear as the other spells that the wand had cast when it was impelled to produce their record."

Snape straightened up abruptly and began to pace furiously once more. "There is another spell. Damn it! Why can't I remember? There's something else going on here, Albus. I know it. I almost have the answer. There's a spell. A dark spell. I know I've come across mention of it before or had it mentioned to me. It can change things somehow. I need to do some research, but this could be the answer we need." His eyes gleamed hopefully as he turned back to his Headmaster.

Dumbledore sighed. "I certainly hope you're right, but you'd better hurry, my boy. Minerva doesn't have much time left. The trial has been set for Monday. That only gives us four days to figure out how we're going to present our case, and at the moment, we don't have much of a case to present beyond bringing forth witnesses to testify to Minerva's excellent character."

Snape nodded grimly. "Then I'd better get started, shouldn't I? I'd make more progress, of course, if I didn't have to teach classes for the next two days."

Dumbledore smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I can't allow you to shirk your regular duties. My time is already taken up teaching Minerva's classes. Your classes will have to be taught…though perhaps you might hold off on any time-consuming detentions until after the trial is over."

Snape snorted. "I will endeavor to keep my calendar as uncluttered as possible for the moment, hopefully Filch has lots of free time, but if I'm to make a thorough job of searching through all my books for that illusive bit of information, then I'd better get to it."

Before Snape could turn and head for the door though, Dumbledore's face fell into more serious lines, and he held up a hand to hold him.

"Before you go, there's something else that you should know." He reached to one side of his desk and retrieved the roll of parchment that he'd received from Amelia Bones. This he handed to Snape.

"We'll only have one shot at this, Severus. We need to get it right the first time." His voice was heavy and bleak.

Snape took the parchment with a sense of foreboding. Quickly, he unrolled it and scanned its printed lines. His indignant eyes rose to Dumbledore's once more.

"They can't be serious." His face had gone even more pale than usual.

Dumbledore sighed. "I'm afraid they're very serious. This has already become law. The Wizengemot has decided that swift and severe punishment will be meted out to all those convicted of capital crimes within their courts. There won't be any delay. If Minerva is convicted, she'll immediately be…"

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"Executed?" exclaimed Minerva in horror. A cold numb feeling suddenly took hold of her mind and body. She knew her mouth hung slack with shock, but in her newly dazed state, she couldn't even summon up the energy to close it. This nightmare went from bad to worse to unimaginable. Though Ian had warned of this outcome, she'd privately thought it extremely unlikely. Once more, it seemed she'd underestimated him.

Andrew Pitt smirked at his former teacher. "You sound surprised. I guess Old Dumbledore didn't have a chance…or the guts…to tell you. Well, I suppose that might be unfair. He might not know himself. Perhaps they haven't told him yet that they've raised the stakes of the game on him. It doesn't really matter. It's a done deal. No long prison term for you, Professor. Either you go free…or you die."

"How?" she whispered.

Pitt leaned casually back against the cell door. "How they'll kill you, you mean? Well, they wrangled a bit over that one, apparently. You'd think they'd use Avada Kedavra, wouldn't you? After all, it's supposed to be painless…more humane that way. But I don't think being humane to prisoners is at the top of the list for the Aurors and Judges; not to mention the fact that using Avada is against the law, so they could hardly make it their official method of execution. No one seems inclined to change that law, either, and well they shouldn't, in my opinion."

He smirked to himself as he watched Minerva sink slowly down onto her cot as if her legs wouldn't hold her upright any longer. Apparently a few days in prison and the threat of execution was all that was necessary to take the starch out of the high and mighty Professor McGonagall. Perhaps she wasn't quite as tough as he'd always thought growing up…how disillusioning.

Pitt warmed to his topic. "So what's left? Beheadings were considered, of course. The Ministry has had headsmen on staff for years to attend to unwanted creatures. It was thought that they could easily dispatch humans as well, but there were some who thought that beheading wasn't painful enough for those who'd murdered innocent people."

Pitt laughed harshly. "Of course, there are all sorts of hideous poisons that could be used. Some of them are very painful, but apparently that was considered too inhumane…so they kept looking. I was hoping for burning, myself. Any warmth that we can find around here would be a good thing as far as I'm concerned, but witch burning smacks of Muggle persecutions. Left a bad taste in the Justices' mouths it seems, so that was thrown out, too."

Thank goodness for small favors, thought Minerva emphatically. As Pitt fell silent, she looked up to find him smiling pleasantly at her, and she had a sudden urge to simply scratch the smug expression right off his face. Her hand rose automatically to toy with her restraining collar. If she had even one minute without this impediment, he'd be singing a different tune...at a much higher pitch.

She straightened her spine and raised her chin defiantly. "So what does that leave, Mr. Pitt? I'm quite sure you know, so you might as well stop playing coy and simply tell me."

Ah, there was some fight left in the old girl, after all. Good. He did so hate to have his preconceptions proven false. His grin broadened. "Well, let's just say that, in the very innermost courtyard of this rock there stands a gallows that hasn't been used in a very long time. I guess I'm going to have to get me some more rope, because if you end up coming back here after your trial, you'll be going straight there. No chance of appeal. You'll only get one shot at acquittal, Professor, let's hope that your defender is as all knowing as he always tries to let on."

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Snape dropped the piece of parchment onto Dumbledore's desk and watched as it snapped shut and rolled to the side.

"Who's responsible for this, Albus?" he asked in a low intense voice.

"It's a decree of the full Wizengemot, Severus. No one person is responsible."

"Could Standish have influenced its passage? The timing seems highly suspicious to me." Snape glared at his companion.

"I doubt it, though if any of them asked his opinion, I'm sure we both know what he'd have said," Dumbledore asserted grimly.

"Of course. If she's dead, he'd have another opportunity to get his hands on her money as the closest legal thing to an heir that she has. That man will have to be dealt with, you know." An anticipatory note slithered through Snape's tone.

Dumbledore sighed. "Right now, we need to concentrate on Minerva. Freeing her is far more important than pursuing any sort of vengeance against Standish. Hopefully, other factors will take care of him in time."

"Don't worry. Minerva is my number one priority, Albus, I assure you, and you're right, proving her innocent would be the same as killing two birds with one stone. If she's freed, then Standish loses all hope of obtaining her estate, and not living up to your promises is never looked on with favor by the Dark Lord." A very unpleasant smile toyed with the corners of Snape's lips. "If you'll excuse me, I should begin my search before my first class. As you pointed out, time is against us."

Without further discussion, Snape left Dumbledore's office as the Headmaster let his troubled eyes focus on the crude stone copy and wondered.

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**Next Chapter: **Snape and Pince attempt a little research.


	36. Searching For Answers

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirty Six: Searching for Answers**

Irma sighed and looked at the clock. Five more minutes and she could close the library for the night. Thankfully, most of the students had already left. Who wanted to spend their Friday evening in the library if they could help it after all, even this close to the end of term? Well, there was Miss Granger over in the corner, but even she looked as if she was packing up to go. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to argue with anyone about it being time to leave tonight because she was simply too darned tired to be overly polite about it.

What a horrible week this had been. It had started off so horrifyingly with Minerva being arrested before breakfast on Monday, and here it was Friday night, and what had passed between was simply a blur. Truly concentrating on anything other than what might be happening to her friend in Azkaban had been impossible. A small shipment of new Herbology texts had come in mid-week, and she'd had to re-catalogue them twice, and she still wasn't completely sure that she'd placed them properly because her mind just wasn't where it was supposed to be. Though, no doubt if they weren't right, she'd be sure to hear about it fairly quickly from Professor Sprout. At least she'd be nice about it if there were errors to be found. Thank heavens, the books hadn't been Potions' texts.

The main door swung shut with a sharp click, and Irma started at the sound and glanced quickly at the table where Hermione had spent the evening buried behind a large stack of books. It was empty. Only one or two books remained to be reshelved. Finally, it was time to check the stacks for lurkers and lock the doors. Her tired face grew grim. Then she could go back to her rooms and brood and pace the floor until it was time to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for awhile, following the pattern her hours had taken all week. She might not be able to do anything useful, but that certainly wasn't preventing her from worrying over the situation like a dog with a tasty bone.

The librarian got to her feet and turned towards the stacks to make her final evening rounds when the sound of the library door opening turned her back again. With surprise, she noted the dark figure of Professor Snape enter the library and glance around searchingly, apparently looking for her.

As she took note of his rather gaunt, pale face, she realized that she hadn't seen much of him over the last few days, not since their somewhat disheartening talk here within the stacks. Now that she thought about it, she hadn't even seen Snape at meals lately either, and she found herself wondering what he'd been up to, and whether or not it had anything at all to do with Minerva.

Whatever he'd been doing with his time, it hadn't been particularly good for him, judging by his appearance. Dark, ugly circles were now firmly etched into the pale flesh that surrounded his sharp eyes, and his robes hung somewhat loosely on his slender frame. His hair hung in lank and tangled strands, betraying even less care than was usually lavished on it. If appearances counted for anything, it appeared that this week hadn't been a good one for him either. In fact, it crossed Irma's mind that he looked very much as if he'd spent the week behind bars himself.

Then a shiver of apprehension ran through her, perhaps he had news to impart. Could that be why he was looking for her? If so, please let it be good news.

With her heart pounding a bit faster than it had been a few moments before, she called out to her after hour's visitor. "Good evening, Professor Snape. What can I do for you this evening? I was just about to close up."

Snape nodded and walked slowly across the intervening space to stand in front of her. He seemed oddly nervous, as if he was reluctant to speak to her for some reason. Which certainly wasn't the usual way that he approached her at all.

"Yes, I'm aware of the library's hours. I purposely waited until you were closing to approach you. I…need a favor." Snape's voice was soft and somewhat hesitant in tone.

Irma's eyebrows rose in surprise. Snape wanted a favor from her? This should be interesting.

"Certainly. How can I help you?" She watched him curiously.

His eyes shifted away from her face to scan the large shadowed room quickly. "Are we alone?"

"We should be. It's now past time for the library to close. I was just about to check the stacks to be sure that there weren't any students lingering in the far corners."

Snape nodded. "Why don't I help you with that, and then I'll tell you why I came. It would save time."

Severus Snape offering to help her finish her work? Now she was really curious. "All right. Why don't you check the restricted section, and I'll check out the regular stacks. It shouldn't take long."

With a brisk nod, he whirled around and strode across the room to do as she asked, disappearing from view down between two of the many rows of bookcases. Fortunately for the students' well being, no one was to be found lurking in the restricted section, but Madam Pince practically stumbled over the huddled form of Dennis Creevey, who was sound asleep in the back of one of the stacks next to a pile of books on magical creatures. She wasted no time waking him up and hustling him out of the library along with an armload of books that he wasn't even sure that he wanted. Once she'd locked the door securely behind him, she returned to her desk and the impatiently waiting Snape.

"We seem to be alone at last, Severus. How can I help you?" she asked.

"It's actually Minerva that I wish you to help," he said softly.

Her heart gave a leap. "Oh, how is Minerva? Do you know any more? When is the trial? Have they set a date? What can I do?"

Snape held up a hand and frowned. "Please. One question at a time. You're worse than Longbottom trying to get answers out of Granger."

A flush spread over her cheeks at his rebuke. "Sorry. It's just that it's been a very long week with virtually no news at all about what's been happening to her. I'm so worried. But if there's anything that I can do to help her, you should know that I'll do it. I told you that the last time we talked." Her fervent voice held a slightly chiding note.

He nodded. "Yes, I know you did." A sigh escaped his lips and suddenly he looked extremely tired. "Minerva's trial has been set for Monday morning."

"Monday? So soon. Will Albus be ready?" She held her breath waiting for his reply.

His ashen face set itself in grim lines. "As it stands now…no. There isn't anything that Albus has been able to come up with that can refute the evidence that the court will present against her."

Irma was horrified. "Oh, no. Oh, that's awful." She clutched at her arms and began to rub them as if suddenly chilled. "You mean that Minerva could end up having to stay in that horrible prison for the rest of her life," she whispered through stiff lips. That thought was almost unthinkable.

Snape's throat constricted slightly. If only that were true. At the very least, it would give them more time to help her. Should he tell Pince the truth? That if they weren't able to prove Minerva innocent, that there wouldn't be a rest of her life? No. It was bad enough that he knew it. There was no need to make things harder on Pince at this point. He needed her to be able to focus.

"I hope it won't come to that," he offered softly.

Irma raised her eyes to his seeking reassurance. "No, me either. You said you needed me to help her. Help her how?"

"You remember that I told you that there was a pensieve full of memories that appeared to be Minerva's."

She nodded. "Yes. You said that they seemed to show her casting…the Avada Kadavra."

Snape grimaced slightly. "Yes. That is what they seem to show. However, I don't believe that is the correct interpretation." How should he explain this? He didn't completely understand what he was looking for himself.

"I don't understand," she exclaimed. "Either they show that or they don't."

"The pensieve in question has no sound. No one can hear what's being said. It looks as if Minerva casts the killing curse because the victim, a man named Henry Grant, simply falls dead when she casts a spell on him, but because no one can actually hear what she said, it isn't certain."

"Well, that's good, right? It means there's some doubt." Irma looked hopefully at the Potions master.

He frowned and began to pace back and forth before her desk. "Yes, and no. Her wand clearly shows that the Avada Kadavra was cast."

Hope died once more. "Oh," she said in a small voice. "Then I still don't understand. That should confirm it, shouldn't it?"

"No!" Snape exclaimed emphatically, making Irma jump in surprise. As he noted her reaction, he stopped his pacing and took a deep breath before proceeding more calmly. "No. I don't think it's that simple. The sound was removed from the pensieve for a reason. I believe that that reason was to mask the fact that Minerva uttered quite a different spell than the one she's believed to have cast."

He paused before trying to explain. "When I was young, I vaguely remember hearing my father speak of a spell that could alter the cast spells of another. It took me a long time to even remember this much, and I don't remember any of the details, unfortunately. My father no longer can be asked about it, though I doubt he'd tell the truth regardless, but I have this fragment of memory stuck in my mind. The spell in question has a telltale washed out bluish green flash associated with it. The flash that accompanied the spell Minerva cast in the pensieve is that same color instead of the brilliant emerald it should have been if she'd actually cast Avada Kadavra."

Irma nodded. "I see. What does Minerva say about all this? Doesn't she remember what happened?"

"As a matter of fact…no. Someone oblivated this incident from her mind, most likely without her permission." He scowled darkly.

Irma's jaw dropped. "That's horrible. You mean that Minerva doesn't remember anything about this murder at all? Oh my goodness, she must be terrified. How dreadful to wonder whether you might have killed someone or not."

"She did not murder Henry Grant. I'm convinced of that," Snape snapped sharply. "Though I'll grant you, she probably did kill him. Still, if this spell was used, then it was used by someone else, and the fault lies with them…not Minerva."

"Well, can you demonstrate this spell? Show everyone how this could have been done?" Irma asked hopefully.

"That's why I'm here. I only have this faint childhood memory of hearing about the existence of this spell. It's not something that I've ever come across in actual practice. Obviously, it's extremely obscure dark magic. I can't prove it exists unless I can find the spell itself. I've spent every free moment of the last two days searching through all of dark arts spell books that I possess, only to come up empty. Then I searched through everything in the Headmaster's office, also to no effect. Now, I need to search…" he held a hand out in a sweeping gesture to indicate the library collection "…this. I was hoping that you might be willing to assist me."

Irma turned and looked at the collection as if she'd never seen it before. The two of them had to search all those thousands of books before Monday? Was it even possible?

"Severus, do you realize how long that would take with just the two of us? Can we get more people to help?"

"I know it won't be easy, but I'd rather not draft anyone else in this quest if I can avoid it. As it is, I was reluctant to include you in the search, but I doubt if I could simply physically look through that many books by myself, so I had little choice."

Now, it was Irma's turn to frown in annoyance. "Why were you reluctant to include me? You must know that you can trust me, and no one in this school knows the collection better than I do."

"I am well aware of that fact, Madam Pince. Trust had nothing to do with it. I'm just…unsure enough about what I'm searching for that I'm afraid if too many people do the searching, it might get overlooked. After all, I'm fairly confident that if I see the spell, I'll know if it's the right one, but how will you or anyone else be as certain? It's not your memory that we want to jog after all, it's mine."

She nodded reluctantly. It made sense, but could the two of them really get through all those books before Monday? Even if they narrowed their search as much as possible? Yes, they could. They had to, but it wouldn't be easy.

He cleared his throat awkwardly and looked down at her. "Still, you are quite right to say that you know the collection better than anyone else in the castle. I felt that if anyone here could aid me in this search, it would be you."

She suppressed a smile. That was quite a compliment coming from Snape, and she could see that he was a bit uncomfortable offering it.

"All right. Let's not waste any more time then. I assume that you think we should begin in the restricted section. From the way you've described this spell, it doesn't sound like something that would be in any of the more standard spell books. It wouldn't be appropriate material for the students to come across."

"No, if it's here, I'm quite certain that it would be in a more obscure tome without question. I can't imagine that it would be in the regular collection, so that narrows it down quite a bit right there." He turned to scan the immense room full of books with a bleak expression. There were still an awful lot of possibilities to be searched through. "I just hope that it can be found in one of them, because if it can't…" His voice trailed off faintly.

Irma went cold at that thought, and her heart caught in her chest once more at the grim and slightly lost look she saw in Snape's eyes.

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Ian Standish stood at the window of his private study and gazed out at his lands stretched out before him. His eyes followed the uneven ground of his snow dusted meadow, noting every sharp angled boulder, every sinuous tree that pushed itself up through its white robe, until it came to a small swiftly moving stream. The wide expanse of land on the other side of the stream rose gracefully into rolling hills covered here and there with tracts of tall straight timber. Rich land…beautiful land…McGonagall land. He'd coveted that land ever since he'd lost his grip on it nearly a half century ago. Now, it was within his grasp once more. You'd think he'd be more pleased, but somehow he wasn't savoring his impending victory nearly as much as he thought he would be.

A rustle of stiff cloth told him that he was no longer alone. With a small sigh, he downed the rest of his liquor and, thus fortified, turned to face his wife. For only she would dare to disturb him here. He found her holding the carafe of brandy in her bejeweled hand and staring at him with a look of disapproval on her wide face. Not that that indicated any change on her part. Disapproval had been her usual facial expression for as long as he could recall.

"A bit early in the day for this, isn't it, Ian?" Her voice was sharp and high pitched, and it grated on his rather frayed nerves.

Refusing to rise to her bait, he shrugged and turned back to the window. "I see no point in waiting."

Nelda replaced the brandy carafe on the sideboard with a thump. "No. You wouldn't," she said with a voice full of scorn.

Ian refrained from answering, and she crossed the room to stand beside him at the window. "So, will it now be yours?" she asked quietly.

Instead of answering her immediately, he turned away from the view and crossed to refill his drink from the crystal carafe. Once he'd replenished his courage, he sipped it slowly and finally turned back to face his waiting wife. "That's not certain yet."

"You're regretting this, aren't you? No." She held up a warning hand. "Don't bother to answer, I can see it in your eyes. You're finally beginning to realize that it's not only the land you've been coveting all these years; it's its owner. You're standing here dreaming of her, aren't you? You'd rather have some common murderess in your bed than the mother of your sons."

"Nonsense," he replied as his eyes slid from hers and he took a larger sip of his brandy. Shoving his other hand deeply into a pocket to still its slight tremor. "I was the one who turned in the evidence against her. I knew what I was doing, and I'd have hardly done it if I coveted her, as you suggest."

"Really? I'm certainly not convinced of that. I think this was simply another case of you not thinking things through completely. I can tell just by looking at you that you're regretting doing your duty and turning over that shocking pensieve you found. Did you offer it to her first? Try to use it as leverage, to get her to return to you? I know you Ian, you're always playing the angles."

Her voice became more emphatic…more strident. "Surely you made an attempt to get everything you wanted first before you went to extremes. I'm well aware that you've always regretted having to give up the heiress in order to get your heirs. You've never felt that I was as good as the high and mighty Minerva McGonagall. Certainly not as good as the all powerful Ian Standish deserved." Nelda's small eyes narrowed as she stared with contempt at her husband. "She wasn't even woman enough to be able to carry your children, yet you'd still take her back and put her over me, wouldn't you?"

With a snarl, Standish threw his glass into the nearby fireplace, not even noticing when the crystal shattered on the stones as he moved swiftly over to seize his startled wife by the wrist and twist it cruelly up behind her back. As she struggled against him and whined for her release, he placed his other hand against her throat and squeezed, just enough to make her eyes pop slightly and restrict her breathing.

"Yes, I would…in a heartbeat." He sneered contemptuously down into her face. "Minerva McGonagall is worth a hundred common trollops like you, my…dear…wife. You should be happy she turned me down. If she hadn't, I assure you, you'd already be out on your ample arse in the gutter. Now, get out of my sight before I decide that I'd be better off without you and send you packing anyway." With that he shoved her roughly away from him into the back of a settee.

Nelda grasped the wooden frame of the solid piece of furniture with a shaking hand and rubbed her abused throat as she gasped for breath. "You bastard," she spat. "I hope you never get your hands on the McGonagall lands."

"You'd better not get your wish, my dear, or you'll likely find yourself regretting it. Now, get out of my sight." He glowered furiously at her and took a single menacing step in her direction. With a pale face, she turned and fled, leaving him alone in the room once more.

Slowly, he turned back to the window, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared out over his domain with unseeing eyes. What would happen if this scheme of his didn't work out as planned? What if, somehow, Minerva didn't get convicted? What if, even with his strong connections and excellent claim, he wasn't able to gain control of her estate after all? Could he survive the Dark Lord's ire?

Still trembling with anger and the sharp prickling of sudden fear, Ian returned to the sideboard for a fresh glass and another generous portion of brandy. No. He couldn't afford to think that way. It would work out. It would. Minerva would lose, and he'd win, and the Dark Lord would be appeased once more.

Once that happened, then it would be time to finally deal with his tiresome wife once and for all. That bitch was becoming far too much of a liability. She'd long outlived her usefulness to him anyway; there really wasn't any reason to keep her around any longer. Perhaps, once he'd fulfilled his obligation to the Dark Lord, the man might grant him a small boon in return and have some of his creatures dispose of her for him. Something painful and lingering would suit his tastes just fine.

After all, this whole untenable situation was all her fault in the first place. He'd never have had to go after Minerva this way if Nelda hadn't spent all his money and encouraged her wastrel sons to do the same. If it wasn't for her, he'd have been able to approach Minerva in a more leisurely fashion. With care and time to do a proper job of wooing her. Then she'd most likely have come back to him willingly, and brought her land with her.

Then she wouldn't be in Azkaban, waiting to die, and he wouldn't have to wait and worry over what would happen at that trial. Surely, she'll be convicted. It was a shame, and he never wanted that for her, but she brought it all on herself. He just had to be sure that it wasn't all in vain. He needed to get those lands. If it meant that Minerva had to die in order for that to happen, well, there was no turning back now. If he couldn't have her, at least no one else would either.

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva finds herself with time on her hands and too much to think about, while Severus is consumed with the desperate need not to fail.


	37. Inner Demons

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to scatteredlogic for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Thirty Seven: Inner Demons**

Minerva stood by the small window in her cell and looked down into the courtyard below her. In the unusually clear light of morning, she could see several guards and laborers working diligently to repair and rebuild the ancient structure in the middle of the open space at the center of the prison…the gallows. There was no escaping the sound of the nails being pounded one by one for hours on end. It occurred to her that they were doing the work without magic simply for her benefit. Nothing else made sense. Her cell had been moved from the sea side of the prison to the inside, which overlooked this place where they once performed executions before the Dementors took over, simply so that she could watch the preparations for her death move forward. It was one form of torture that they could easily get away with.

For the last hour, they'd been testing the hinged platform on which she'd stand. Testing it over and over again. It had worked quite well the first time and every time since then. All thirty-four of them so far. They'd more than made their point. Now, they were simply driving it into the ground.

Lately, time had somehow ceased to follow a coherent line, and mentally, she found herself in the past as often as in the present. Memories glittered temptingly and jostled each other for her attention, and she found herself picking and choosing amongst them, trying to relive only the good ones. Why delve into the horrors of her life when every horror she'd ever experienced was being given form outside her window? Yet even things that began as good memories could sour so easily.

The fresh faces of students, past and present, kept appearing and disappearing. Some she could put names to and some, she realized to her dismay, she could not. Teaching had been a true joy in her life. Helping students to learn the skills that they needed to be successful in their lives was one of the most satisfying things that she'd ever done. When she read about their successes, once they'd left school, she felt proud to have helped them on their way.

Now, if she was convicted, all of these students, who might once have remembered her fondly, or at least with grudging respect for what she'd been able to give them, would only remember her as a murderess. It was so disheartening. She'd spent so many years trying to live an exemplary life, to help all the children who'd crossed her path, to set a proper example for them, and now it all came down to this…public censure, scorn and ridicule, and, finally, death at the end of a rope.

How could one incident that she didn't even remember end up destroying everything so completely? Her future, her reputation, her career could all be gone just like that. No matter how she tried, she simply couldn't imagine doing what they said she did, even with those damning pictures to prove it. A great number of other people didn't seem to be having any trouble with that, though. After they'd peered into that pensieve from her past, her guilt apparently seemed quite easy to believe. Once again, she cursed her inability to see the actual pensieve itself, though if the copy was a true one, it might not matter, especially since her memories of the incident were completely gone.

How could she ever bring herself to face all those people at her trial? Clearly, it would be open to the public. Albus seemed to think that Minister Gallagher wanted to turn the trial into a showpiece, a public spectacle that would sweep him into office permanently. So, without a doubt, there'd be hoards of eager reporters there to take her picture and post it up everywhere. People she knew, friends, acquaintances, enemies, they'd all vie for a seat in the courtroom, simply to see if it was true. Even people she'd known her entire life would end up wondering if they'd ever really known her at all.

A ragged sigh escaped her. Sometimes she wondered the same thing herself. If she was truly the woman she'd always thought herself to be, then how could something so horrific really exist in her past? None of this made any sense at all.

Albus didn't doubt her though. A pallid smile crossed her face. He'd been steadfast in his belief in her innocence from the moment he'd heard of the charges. No matter what evidence he was faced with, he'd always stand by her. She knew she could count on that, and it meant the world. Just this morning, she'd been presented with a note from him, telling her that she'd be brought to the Ministry of Magic late tomorrow to await her trial early the following day.

His words had been hopeful and upbeat, telling her not to lose heart. He promised that he'd see her there, and that everything would go well. Though that could simply be his natural optimism and the desire to buoy her spirits. No, she realized suddenly with a start, that wasn't quite right. He hadn't said that he'd meet her there. He'd said that "they" would meet her there. Who would "they" turn out to be, she wondered? Could he have meant that Severus would be with him?

Her vision blurred slightly, and she blinked to clear it. Oh, she wanted to see him again, so very much, yet at the same time, she was afraid to. Afraid that if she did, she'd break down and beg him to hold her in his arms once more. Afraid that she'd just embarrass him with her emotionality, or worse yet, harm his reputation in front of spying eyes.

What must he think of her now? He'd been right all along. She should've told Albus what Ian was up to, right from the start, instead of trying to handle it all on her own. Keeping Albus and the school clear of any scandal had seemed like the right move at the time, but she'd failed to realize how much a part of Hogwarts she'd become over the years. No matter what she did, or how hard she tried, she couldn't ever truly disassociate herself from the school, and it had obviously been foolish of her to try.

With a tightening of her throat, she turned away from the torture of the window and lowered herself slowly onto her cot, trying to ignore the aches that plagued her with any movement now. Constant exposure to the extreme cold and dampness of this place hadn't done anything good for her aging joints. She felt so old at the moment, old and tired and simply worn out.

If Severus could see her now, he'd probably be appalled…and repelled. Who would he choose for his next lover? As much as the thought pained her, she couldn't help but wonder. He'd seemed to enjoy the benefits of having a regular lover far too much for him to go back to doing without too easily. Surely, he'd find someone to take her place in his bed. Their involvement hadn't been love for him, after all. Oh, he'd become fond of her. Her thoughts drifted back to that last embrace they'd shared, his concern for her safety, the gentleness of his touch. No, there was no doubt in her mind that he'd come to care about her, perhaps a fair amount, but caring and fondness didn't compare to her feelings for him.

Sadly, she bowed her head and buried her face in her hands. She missed him so much. Why had she ever allowed herself to care so much about him? Why had she been so foolish as to actually fall in love?

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The darkness was impenetrable. No matter which way Severus turned, he couldn't see anything. He could hear, though, and feel and smell. He was in Azkaban. There was no doubt about it. Once you've spent any amount of time there, you could never forget that smell. It lingered in your mind like a trap that could be sprung without warning at the least touch of memory.

The scent was one of dampness and decay, of sweat and blood, and fear, overwhelming fear. It permeated everything. The walls, the food, the meager clothes that they allowed you to wear. It was everywhere. There was no escape.

Cold wind cut through his robes and caused him to shiver as he tried to figure out exactly where within the labyrinthine prison he was, and how he could reach his goal. Because he had to find her and soon. Time was running out. Those self-righteous idiots at the Ministry were going to kill her, and somehow he had to stop them. Nothing else mattered.

Carefully, he stretched out his arms into the stygian abyss and tried to touch something. There had to be walls here somewhere, but no matter which direction he turned, his fingertips remained free, touching nothing but air.

Slowly, he became aware of sounds that reverberated around him, resolving themselves into the measured tread of several pairs of feet moving along together. Three or four people perhaps, he couldn't be sure. They were moving away from him, their steps echoing off the stone floor. One set seemed lighter than the others, more reluctant, scuffling slightly, but every time those steps faltered for a moment, they were hurried along once more, as if one person was shoving another into place in a moving line.

Voices drifted to his ears, mere snatches of sound just beyond the edge of comprehension. He frowned as he continued to grope blindly for his bearings and tried to make sense of what he heard.

Then without warning, he touched a wall, and vision abruptly returned to his eyes. Not that the view he had was particularly encouraging. He appeared to be in the middle of the prison in one of the smoky, torch lit corridors listening to the nearby dripping of water, and he realized with a shiver that those echoing footsteps had stopped. He held his breath. Why had the footsteps stopped? What did it mean?

Then he heard them again. This time though, it was only two sets, and they no longer echoed off cold stone. Instead, they were striking wood. Someone was climbing stairs made of wood. Two people…a man…and a woman.

It was Minerva. It had to be. She was somewhere nearby; he knew it, without a doubt, but he was suddenly seized with the certainty that if he didn't find her soon, it would be too late.

He began to run, trying to follow the sound of the steps, but they echoed falsely. Sometimes seeming near and sometimes seeming so very far away. He ran blindly, his heart beating faster and faster with every step. Every time he came to a corner and turned it, he was faced with yet another long empty corridor with no end in sight, but he couldn't give up. He couldn't stop. So he simply kept running…on and on.

Slowly, he was descending, but no matter how fast he ran, he didn't seem to be making much progress. Then quite suddenly, he heard voices.

A man's…harsh and mocking. "Any last words, Professor?"

He froze.

"I'd only be wasting my time."

Minerva's voice.

A brutal laugh. "Hell, I always thought that wasting time was the whole point, but that doesn't seem to be your style, I will admit. Okay. I don't mind moving on to the main event."

Muffled rustlings of movement were followed by a silence that was so full of foreboding that it hurt to listen to it. Then his heart skipped a beat at the sharp sound of wood hitting heavily against wood. Echoing laughter filled his ears and made them burn.

No! He couldn't be too late! No! He ran faster and faster, and suddenly just when he never thought he'd find a way out, he turned a corner and saw a faint light in the distance.

Desperately, he plunged onward, his footsteps ringing sharply against the stone, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps; finally, he burst out of the gloom of the prison walls into the harsh gray light of day. Immediately, his breath stilled in his chest as his eyes fastened on the only thing in sight. Indeed everything else fell away to nothing. All that remained was the sound of his breathing…harsh and shallow…and the sight of Minerva's limp form dangling from the end of a rope.

The sound of slow footsteps scraping against uneven ground assaulted his ears, but he failed to recognize them as his own as he moved slowly towards her. The icy wind that cut through him like needles tore at her hair and the rags that she wore, and gave the illusion of movement to her body, where clearly none should any longer be.

No matter how he tried, he couldn't take his eyes from her bound and swaying figure, suspended from the gallows. He was too late, after all…too late.

Suddenly, he was plunged into darkness once more. Then a light came up behind him, and he turned to see a shining coffin laid out on a bier. Once more, he moved forward to stare down at her quiet face as she lay there before him, finally at rest. Unbidden, he slowly reached out a hand and touched her cold cheek, caressing it gently. But there was no life to her skin any longer. No pulse at her throat. No breath from her lips.

A cold pain flooded through him as he looked down on her. He'd failed her. She was counting on him, and he'd failed.

Then without warning, her eyes suddenly snapped open, and she sat up to face him as shock made him gasp and stumble back. He found himself staring into her eyes, and for the first time ever, they looked back at him with disgust.

"You're too late, Severus," she accused. "You let them kill me when you knew the truth. You should've stopped them. I was innocent. I didn't deserve to die. You could've stopped it, found the proof to free me. Why didn't you save me? I was counting on you. Didn't I mean anything to you?"

"Of course, you did! I tried." He forced breath through dry lips. "I tried to find the answer. I ran out of time…" His voice trailed off helplessly, and he simply stood there and looked at her.

"Once again your efforts weren't good enough, they've never been good enough, have they? All your life, you've been a failure. You were a failure as a son, a failure as a student, you weren't even a good Death Eater. It's only a matter of time before you fail as a spy as well. And now you've failed me, too. You were too slow finding the proof. Without it, you couldn't convince anyone of the truth. Why didn't you try harder? I believed in you, depended on you, cared about you, but you didn't care whether I lived or died."

"No," he begged. "No, that's not true. I tried my best. I didn't want anything to happen to you. I never wanted anything to happen to you." His voice crackled with pain, and all he could force into the cold darkness was a whispered confession of something he'd buried too deeply to fully acknowledge before. "I never wanted to lose you…I love…you…"

Her face softened for a moment, and she held out an entreating hand. "Then help me, Severus…before it's too late."

He reached out for her in return, but before they could touch, the darkness descended once more, cutting him off from her and wrapping around him like a smothering shroud. His hands clawed at the black thickness flowing over him, twisting, tightening…

"No," he yelled sharply, as he forced his head upwards from his folded arms and found himself sitting at a long table, within the depths of the library, and being watched by a very worried looking Irma Pince.

His wild eyes stared at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then he shook his head sharply and pressed the heels of his hands deeply into his eye sockets as he leaned back in his chair. It was only a dream…a nightmare. She wasn't dead. Not yet. There was still time to save her. There was still time.

Panic seized his heart. How much time? How long had he slept? He dropped his hands to the tabletop and stared across it at Irma Pince.

"How long have I been asleep? What time is it?" His voice rasped harshly.

"It's approaching midnight, actually. You haven't been asleep that long," she said reassuringly. "A couple of hours, maybe."

"Two hours? How could you let me sleep for two hours? We don't have that kind of time to waste." He glared at her angrily.

Irma shook her head. "Severus, you were obviously exhausted. How long do you think you can survive without sleep? You were still here when I left last night, and you were here when I arrived this morning. You've been doing nothing all day except moving methodically from one book to the next. The circles under your eyes look as if they've become a permanent feature. Did you get any rest at all last night?"

He glanced away and tightened his lips, refusing to answer though that was answer enough.

"It won't do Minerva any good if you make yourself ill trying to find this spell, you know." Irma frowned across at him.

Angrily, he turned back to her with burning eyes. "It's not going to do Minerva any good if we don't find the spell at all!" he snapped.

Irma looked unhappy. "I know, but…"

"No! You don't know!" He cut her off sharply, slamming his fist into the polished mahogany surface of the table.

Irma jumped in surprise. His haggard face looked furious and haunted. She'd seldom, if ever, seen anyone so close to the edge as Snape seemed to be right now. His intensity burned into her as if he'd taken one of the magical torches and thrust it up under her face. His reaction sent fear racing through her body, making her fingers tingle as she clutched them into anxious fists.

"What don't I know?" she asked in a hollow tone, afraid to hear the answer.

He froze and simply stared silently at her for a heartbeat. Then he dropped his eyes back to the table and drew the nearest book towards him across the tabletop.

"Nothing…never mind," he murmured. "Let's just get back to work. I assume, since you didn't awaken me, that you didn't find anything while I was asleep."

For a moment, she debated whether or not she should persist with her query, but ultimately, she felt that it would only anger him and waste valuable time. Yet his reaction, this intense sense of desperation, which oozed from every inch of the man, struck fear into her heart as she looked at him. He knew something that he wasn't telling her. Something that wasn't good for Minerva. It was tearing him apart, whatever it was, and driving him onward relentlessly. Therefore, if she trusted him, she should allow it to drive her, too, even without knowing what it was.

So she shook her head. "No, I haven't found anything yet, but we will," she offered timidly. "I'm worried about her, too, you know." Hesitantly, she extended a hand and laid it gently on top of his as it lay on the table still contracted into a fist.

Haltingly, he raised his head and stared at her for a long moment, while slowly the clenched fist relaxed under her touch until his long fingers lay flat against the wooden surface. His eyes, sunken with fatigue, were full of something that she couldn't quite identify. Something it pained her to see.

Without speaking, he slowly lowered his gaze once more to the book in front of him, and she quietly withdrew her hand from his to begin searching her pile of books for answers once more.

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**Next chapter:** Minerva is moved to the Ministry of Magic to await her trial.


	38. A Journey Begins

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

Chapter Thirty Eight: A Journey Begins 

Footsteps echoed outside the door to her cell causing a slight shiver to run down Minerva's spine. It must be time to go. The day had dragged along so slowly that it had felt as if the weak winter sun was forever hovering over the point of a sundial, reluctant to fall and give the dominion of the moon its time. Night was finally winning its battle though, and the shadows outside her window had been growing longer and longer until the dimness of dusk swallowed them completely.

As she turned away from the darkening window, the door behind her opened, admitting Andrew Pitt with a cloak over his arm and a smirk lighting up his fleshy face.

"Good afternoon, Professor. Are you ready to go? It's time for your trip to the Ministry of Magic."

Minerva raised an eyebrow. "And if I said no, Mr. Pitt? Would I be allowed to remain?"

The man laughed, a short harsh sound. "I do admire your aplomb, I must admit. Most men who face what you're facing handle it all a whole lot worse, believe me. However, whether I admire you or not, it's still time to go, but cheer up. From what I hear, you'll only be at the Ministry for a day or two at the most, then you'll be right back here with us. Well, at least for a short while."

As Minerva swallowed back the stab of fear that jabbed her at his words, he stepped closer and lowered his voice. "I haven't decided yet whether or not to let Quent, and some of the other boys, give you a going away present before we string you up, so I'd advise you to keep your thoughts about your treatment here to yourself. I can make it quick or I can stretch it out for a long while. You might just think about that while you're away."

He met her eyes, and they stared coldly at each other for a long moment before Minerva looked away. It was a truly horrible feeling to be completely at the mercy of those who had so little mercy in their hearts.

Pitt grinned as she looked away, and gestured for one of the guards that backed him up to come forward. With a sly grin of his own, Roy stepped forward and yanked Minerva's arms firmly behind her back, tying them tightly with a strong piece of rope. Then, once she was securely bound, Roy stepped back and Pitt took the cloak from his arm and slid it around her shoulders.

"It's a long cold trip, Professor." His eyes met hers as he grinned while he fastened the cloak securely around her throat and caressed the skin of her cheek lightly with the back of his hand.

"And heaven forbid I should freeze to death before you can hang me, right?" she answered frostily.

Pitt laughed once more and shook his head. "I'm going to miss you, Professor."

"It's a shame I can't say the same, Mr. Pitt," she retorted coldly.

His only response was to laugh shortly again before he turned and left the cell. Roy shoved Minerva roughly until she followed his boss out the door, then the small group of them walked back down through the prison heading for the boat dock. Minerva's now painfully stiff muscles and joints forcing a fairly slow pace.

The trip back to the small square apparition platform was uneventful. In the gathering dusk, the prison island was nothing but a huge gray rock with waves lashing its sides. It fell away into the distance very quickly, and she felt a moment's relief at leaving it behind, even though it was a virtual certainty that she'd be returning all too soon, to die and be buried forever within its walls.

When the boat arrived at the platform, two Aurors were waiting for her. One of them, she didn't recognize at all, but the other one, to her surprise, was Kingsley Shacklebolt. The relief she felt at seeing him smile compassionately at her, was a surge of physical warmth. Other than Albus, she hadn't seen a friendly face since she'd been taken from Hogwarts, and she hadn't realized until this very moment how much that lack had hurt her.

Shacklebolt reached down and carefully helped her to climb up from the rocking deck of the boat, which she probably couldn't have managed alone with her arms tied behind her, and squeezed her elbow warmly as he did so. "Are you all right?" his low voice asked softly, concern quite obvious in his compassionate brown eyes.

She smiled hesitantly at him and nodded once as she murmured in return, "Yes, as well as can be expected."

The guards from the prison didn't linger long once she'd been turned over to the Aurors, though Roy did put a hand to his forehead in a mocking salute and give her his toothy grin as he jumped back down into the boat. "We'll be seeing you soon, I reckon," he called back, then with a laugh, he and his companion turned the boat away and headed back across the sea towards Azkaban.

Shacklebolt's partner produced a Portkey in the shape of a woolen scarf. The long sinuous piece of handicraft was draped around the three of them as they huddled together on the cold platform in the gathering darkness and sought protection and comfort from the bitter wind in the meager warmth of each other.

Minerva wasn't even aware of the change when it came, so lost in her thoughts was she, and the first she knew of it was when Shacklebolt shook her arm slightly and whispered, "We're here."

At the sound of his voice, she lifted her head and opened her eyes to see that they were standing in the middle of a narrow alley with brick walls and an unevenly paved surface beneath their feet. There was no sign of the red call box that she recalled from her previous trips to the Ministry of Magic, but then it occurred to her that they probably didn't take prisoners in through the front door as if they were ordinary members of the law abiding public.

So she simply straightened up and waited, enjoying that fact that for the first time in a week, she wasn't freezing. There was a light rain coming down, but it wasn't accompanied by the bitterly cold wind that had been her constant companion for days now. It wasn't even completely dark here, for though London was fairly far north in the global sense, it was nowhere near as northern a clime as the icy North Sea was.

The other Auror, a young red-headed man, whose name was apparently Jenkins, stepped a few paces away and aimed his wand at a pair of rusted metal doors imbedded into the pavement at their feet. With a muttered word and a flash of purple, the doors creaked open and a metal cage rumbled up out of the ground. Once it stood still at street level, waiting, Jenkins slid open the barred door and stepped inside. Shacklebolt gestured for Minerva to follow so she did. Once Shacklebolt himself had joined them, the door swung shut, and the cage began a slow and bone jarring descent back into the earth.

Minerva tilted her head back and watched as the metal doors closed over them, blocking out the gray sliver of daylight and plunging them into complete darkness. The ride down in the cage seemed to take forever, but in reality, it probably wasn't more than a minute. When the lift stopped, Jenkins slid the cage doors aside, then placed a glowing key against the facing wall. It split silently down the middle and opened to reveal a long featureless corridor.

They trouped slowly down the hall without saying a word. When they came to a cross corridor, Minerva looked to her left and noted a bank of lifts. They turned away from the lifts and walked down another featureless hallway, heading towards a plain black door. At least that's where she assumed that they were heading since there didn't seem to be anywhere else they could go.

She was wrong, though. Just before they reached the black door, the corridor walls fell away on the left and revealed a set of stairs leading further down. They turned here and descended the stairs. So far there had been no sign that anyone else was anywhere within the structure. No voices, no people, not even the sound of distant footsteps, and the total silence was beginning to unnerve the already tightly wound woman.

All this walking was beginning to wear on Minerva, too, and her left leg in particular ached rather fiercely by this point. The constant severe weather at the prison had been very hard on her physically even without all the added abuse. When she looked at the two burly men with wands at the ready who were deemed necessary to prevent the escape of one bound and injured elderly witch, she couldn't help but shake her head at the irony. Apparently, she really must be a more fearsome creature than she'd ever imagined.

When they finally reached the end of the staircase, just for a moment, Minerva thought she was back at Hogwarts. Where the corridors on the upper floor had been brightly lit and of more modern appearance, this level looked positively medieval. The walls and floors were lined with dark stone, and the lighting was provided by widely spaced smoky torches set in wrought iron wall sconces.

They moved off down the corridors past one heavy, locked door after another. As they came to the end of the corridor and turned into another one, Minerva's attention was drawn to the large open room in front of her. Her footsteps faltered, and she veered to the side and stopped so that she could look within.

As she quickly scanned the huge darkened room, she realized that she'd been here before, many years earlier. Indeed, its haunting image was forever burned into her memory. This was where they'd tried the Death Eaters after Voldemort's first fall.

Jenkins gave a short exclamation at her stopping, but Shacklebolt laid a hand on his arm and quietly told him that he'd handle it. The younger man frowned slightly, but gave a reluctant nod and stepped back, clearly willing to defer to his more experienced partner, though still a bit unhappy at this deviation from their orders.

Minerva's worried eyes took in the row after row of empty benches where the public would sit. Then she turned to look up at the tall shadowy benches where the judges would be. But her eyes kept coming back to that single wooden chair, as it stood alone in the center of the room with its chains lying quiescent by its side. In her mind, she already sat in that chair, and was bound by those chains, as the room full of faceless people smirked at her and called out for her punishment.

Suddenly, she became aware of a warm hand descending lightly onto her shoulder. Stiffly, she turned her head and looked up into Shacklebolt's understanding eyes.

"The trial won't be held here, Minerva," he said gently.

Her lips parted in surprise. "Then where?" she whispered.

Grasping her arm gently, he guided her back into the hallway, and they slowly continued on. "They've constructed a new courtroom on the Atrium level of the Ministry for civil and criminal trials. It has easier access to the lifts for the general public. It's also a bit larger, so they can have a wider audience. Something that Minister Gallagher insisted on." His expressive face darkened slightly.

"No doubt," murmured Minerva in response.

"It's much brighter than this one, too. No dark torches and heavy stone. The new courtroom is much lighter and more open. It should photograph extremely well," he stated dryly.

Minerva sighed. Just as she'd feared. "Is there…is there a chair?" Her voice faltered.

"With chains?" he asked gently.

She nodded. For some irrational reason, the thought of sitting bound by those horrible chains, in front of so many people she knew, distressed her even more than the thought of her execution did.

"No. No chair. No chains. The accused has the right to have a defender by his or her side, so a different approach has been taken here. There are only five seats on the bench, which isn't quite as tall, and facing it will be two tables. One where the defendant and his or her defense council will sit, and the other for the appointed interrogator, who will present the evidence."

That sounded much better to Minerva, and she nodded with a sense of relief.

Just then, they came to a stop in front of one of the heavy wooden doors with the large iron locks on them. Two guards of impressive size stood menacingly to either side. Another indication of how important, and apparently dangerous, a prisoner she was being made out to be. Jenkins nodded to one of the guards and then waited until the man had unlocked the cell door and stepped back, before opening it and stepping aside waiting for Shacklebolt to make the next move. The tall Auror gestured for Minerva to precede them inside, so she squared her shoulders and did so.

The cell she entered was an infinite improvement over the ones she'd had at Azkaban. There was a cot against one wall with warm looking blankets, and a pillow that didn't look as if someone had stomped all over it with muddy hobnailed boots. Against the opposite wall, there stood a small table and a couple of chairs, and best of all, there was an attached lavatory. No more chamber pots. She'd never appreciated indoor plumbing quite as much as she did now after doing without it for an entire week. How anyone survived for years under those dismal conditions, she didn't even want to think about, but with a sudden pang, she realized that that at least would never be her fate. This room was actually warm and was decently lit as well. No window, but she wasn't expecting that this far underground.

Once inside, Kingsley removed the cloak from her shoulders and the chafing rope from her wrists. As she turned to face him while rubbing the circulation back into her hands, he took note of the torn and dirty rags that she was wearing, and frowned.

"I'll speak to my superiors about providing you with something better to wear, Minerva, and perhaps the chance to use a shower facility. In the meantime, I can do this much for you."

He withdrew his wand and cast a mild scouring charm on her. As it swept over her, she could feel the change it made as her hair fell softly once more instead of hanging in limp, greasy strings; the clothes on her back felt less stiff, and her hands were no longer caked with dirt. The best change, though, was that the incredibly embarrassing odor of sweat and blood and grime that had been her constant companion for days, vanished in an instant.

Her eyes filled with tears as she looked through suddenly clear spectacles at the difference it made in her hands. Slowly, she lifted one of them and ran it through her hair, feeling its softness once more. "Oh, thank you," she whispered. "That feels so much better."

Shacklebolt smiled slightly, though a frown still lingered in his eyes as he took in all of her bruises and cuts. "You're quite welcome. I wish I could do more, but my healing skills aren't the best. Now, you just relax, someone will be bringing you dinner before long, and I know that Dumbledore will be by this evening to visit."

She nodded gratefully.

"And try not to worry, too much," Shacklebolt added as he paused in the doorway. "Dumbledore will find a way to prove your innocence. You just need to have a little faith."

Minerva stood in the middle of the room and stared thoughtfully after Shacklebolt as he closed the door and left. "Have a little faith…" she murmured.

In what? Faith that Albus could pull a hare from the hat? Wasn't that the Muggle phrase that was used to mean a last minute success at something by means of a miracle? Well, it would take a miracle to turn her situation around, and somehow she just couldn't quite make herself believe that even Albus could manage one of those. Not this time.

Slowly, she turned around and hobbled over to the cot. Gratefully, she sank down onto its soft surface. With a wistful smile, she ran a caressing hand across the surface of the snowy pillowcase. Clean sheets. Clean sheets, and warm blankets, and a bed that didn't feel as if it had rocks for mattress ticking. Perhaps, that was all the miracle she should expect. At least for tonight, she'd rest well. If she could get her mind to stop running in circles, of course.

The smile faded from her lips. Tonight and probably tomorrow night, but after that, how many more would she have? How many days were left to her now? Two, three…four? Probably no more than that. Suddenly a shiver of the deepest fear shook her whole body, and her trembling hand crept upward to rest gently on her throat.

Would it hurt much to be hanged? To strangle to death as the weight of your own body prevented breath from reaching your lungs. How could it not hurt? Could she really manage to continue pretending to be brave when she was faced with that reality? For that's what it felt like, as if she was merely playacting. Putting on a brave front because that was expected of her. The Head…no, the former Head of Gryffindor House should never be seen as anything other than brave. It's what was expected by everyone, but could she do it in the face of all this? She covered her mouth with her hands and leaned back against the wall. She honestly didn't know.

A noise at the door roused her from her fears, and she sat up straight once more. Would this be Albus? If it were, would Severus be with him? How would she react if she saw him again? She wanted to…desperately. But could she somehow keep from embarrassing both of them?

Her heart pounded harder in anticipation, as the door began to creak open, and she heard one of the guards say gruffly, "You won't have much time, sir."

The voice that answered stilled the breath in her chest as effectively as any noose.

"That's all right. I won't require very much time. I'll knock when I'm ready to leave."

Then before she could even manage to take another breath, the door swung inward and Ian Standish walked into the cell.

Minerva gaped at him in amazement. Standish had more gall than anyone she'd ever met. Having her tried, and no doubt convicted, for murder apparently wasn't enough for the man. He had to come and gloat, as well.

As the door swung shut and locked behind him, Ian turned his gaze on Minerva and frowned slightly, a bit more shaken by what he saw than he'd expected to be. In her dress of rags and with bruises covering her face, she hardly looked like the same woman that he last saw glaring at him as she boldly refused his offer of help. The expression of utter contempt that she directed his way did look familiar, though, unfortunately.

Well, everything that had happened was her choice. He'd offered to help her, hadn't he? If she was too proud and arrogant to take him up on it, then so be it. Her death was on her own head…not on his. Perhaps her week in prison had given her a bit more wisdom. He could only try and see.

He smiled confidently. "Hello, Minerva."

Narrowing her eyes, Minerva pushed herself slowly to her feet to face the man who'd destroyed her life.

Outrage flowed through her veins like heady wine. "What the hell are you doing here, Ian?"

Good question. As he stood facing her obvious fury and scorn, it suddenly dawned on him that coming here had probably been a mistake, but something within him had forced him to make this one last attempt to get her to see reason, to make all this easier on them both. At any rate, it was too late to change things now, so he took a deep breath and soldiered on.

With studied casualness, he raised his shoulders and let them drop. "What with the trial starting tomorrow, I thought that this might be our last chance to talk."

She straightened up and spoke coldly. "What makes you think we needed another chance to talk? I've said all that I have to say to you. I despise you more than anyone else on the face of this earth. If you had any doubt, now you don't. Now, get out and stop fouling my cell with your presence."

"You know all of this unpleasantness could have been easily avoided. If you'd just cooperated with me," he stated reasonably.

"Cooperated?" she cut him off sharply. "You mean if I'd given in to your blackmail, returned to your repulsive arms, given you control over my wealth, you'd have buried the evidence of a murder? That fact disturbs me greatly. Mostly because it doesn't disturb you in the slightest."

Her tone continued sharp and angry. "You've known about Henry Grant for years, haven't you? Were you aware of his death when it happened? Were you the one who obliviated the memories from my mind, Ian? Then waited all this time until you could use it to your own advantage? You're a bigger monster than I ever dreamed that you were, and that's saying something."

Her fury battered at him like a physical presence, and he took an instinctive step back towards the safety of the corridor.

"I can still help you, if you'll only listen to me." He spread his hands imploringly. "If you'd confess… explain…throw yourself on the mercy of the court, I have it on good authority that Amelia would find a way to commute the death sentence. Mercy to such a well-known pillar of the community would play well, you know. Upstanding citizens always like to believe that someone they consider one of their own will be treated better than the common rabble. Grant had a reputation as an unsavory character. No one will care that much about him anyway. You wouldn't have to die, and I'd do all that I could to see that your imprisonment was as pleasant as possible. I might even be able to get you moved out of Azkaban. Of course, I'd expect payment for my support. You'd still have to sign over your estate to me."

Flabbergasted by his brazenness, she simply stood there and stared at him for a moment. Then as swiftly as she could manage, even with a decided limp, she crossed the room and slapped his face as hard as she was able.

"Get out!" she screamed. She was so livid with rage by now that her body was trembling from head to foot.

Pressing a hand to his reddened cheek, Ian backed swiftly away from her ire and knocked firmly on the cell door.

"Guard!" he bellowed.

As the door swung open, Ian stepped towards the opening and paused to look back with a vicious expression on his face. "You'll regret that, Minerva. That was your last chance. I've already spoken to several very highly placed and sympathetic individuals about obtaining your estate. Once you're dead, it will be mine. You've achieved nothing here except the certainty of your death."

"Oh, I don't know about that," she retorted. "I've wanted to slap your face again for a very long time. Who says that wishes never come true?"

With a final glower, Standish swept from the room and the door slammed and locked behind him.

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva gets to see Severus again. If this chapter contains formatting errors, I apologize. I can't seem to use the preview/edit feature at the moment.


	39. Needful

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

Chapter Thirty Nine: Needful 

Snape and Dumbledore walked side by side through the maze of hallways within the bowels of the Ministry of Magic. Dumbledore moved with a serene countenance and a purposeful step. While the Potions master matched him stride for stride, he was obviously far more nervous and ill at ease. The scowl on his face would have peeled the paint from the walls if he could have harnessed its power and directed it at one particular spot, but instead his head turned constantly, his wary eyes always seeking to pierce the shroud of his surroundings, to see what lurked beneath.

"I shouldn't be here," he stated flatly for the seventh time as they reached the head of the flight of stairs that would take them down to Minerva's cell.

Dumbledore sighed and turned to answer for the fifth time. Twice, he'd merely rolled his eyes. "Don't you want to see Minerva?" he asked.

Snape glanced away and his frown deepened. "Of course, I want to see her. That isn't the point."

"Then what is the point, Severus?" Dumbledore asked curiously.

With snapping eyes, Snape turned back to the Headmaster and hissed in a low insistent tone of voice, "I have job to do, and in case it somehow escaped your notice, I'm not finished doing it yet. As much as I appreciate you wanting to give me a chance to visit with Minerva, I'd be doing her a much greater service by remaining back at Hogwarts and continuing to search the library's collection. Besides, you know as well as I do that being seen to support her wouldn't be particularly good for my image. An image that I cultivate for your benefit, I might add."

"We've had this argument before. You're a trusted member of my staff. No one can doubt that you are doing as I wish you to do when you accompany me. There's no reason for anyone else to have a moment's doubt as to exactly why you're present, especially if you continue to let everyone within earshot know exactly how little you wish to be here." His eyes twinkled. "And so far, my boy, you've been doing an excellent job of that."

Snape's lips tightened, and he frowned more deeply.

The twinkle faded from Dumbledore's eyes, and he turned and put a hand on the handrail to begin his descent into the dungeon level of the Ministry. "I'm trying to think about Minerva. She needs to see you even if you do not believe you feel the same. How would you feel if things went against her tomorrow and you'd given up your last chance to spend some time with her? Wouldn't you regret that? Whether you wish to admit it to me or not, I think you need to see her, too."

"If I don't find that spell, things will go against her, Albus. Isn't that more important than standing around in a cell feeling awkward?" Snape stated bluntly.

Dumbledore paused as they reached the end of the staircase and turned back to Snape, looking earnestly into his eyes. "We most likely will not be here very long, but if you feel that it is too much time to give then I will no longer argue." He gestured at the long dimly lit hallway. "Minerva is waiting down there for us to visit. I know that your presence would mean a lot to her. However, if you don't feel that you can stay, I won't hold you here. Do you want to leave?"

Snape's eyes followed the Headmaster's hand. His mind screamed at him that every moment spent away from the library was a waste of precious time… and yet. His throat tightened at the thought of her sitting just a few feet away from him down here in this maze of stone. Could he simply walk away and give up what might be his last chance to see her…to touch her?

"No. We're here now. Let's just get it over with," he growled.

With a nod, Dumbledore turned and led the way down the corridor, passing from one pool of flickering light to the next. After a couple of turns, they came to the only occupied cell on the floor with its two large guards standing intimidatingly to either side.

After showing the guards the papers that they'd obtained from the proper authorities up in the more comfortable levels of power, one of them nodded and turned to unlock the door. Before he could open it though, Dumbledore placed a hand on Snape's arm and said, "Oh…I forgot. I need to see Amelia Bones about something important concerning the trial tomorrow. Why don't you go on in to see Minerva alone, Severus? I'll join you shortly." He turned to the guard with the key in his hand. "That's all right, isn't it?"

The guard shrugged. "You both have permission to visit with the prisoner. It doesn't matter to us if you see her together or separately."

"No, I didn't think that it would," murmured the Headmaster. Then he squeezed Snape's arm lightly, stated that he wouldn't be long, and turned around to head back up the corridor the way they'd come.

Snape watched him go for a moment with a glint of admiration in his eye. No doubt he had that planned from the beginning. The man's deviousness never ceased to surprise him. He really should have been a Slytherin. Then Snape turned back to the guards who let him into Minerva's cell without another word.

As the door closed behind him, he looked around the small cell and found the woman he was seeking asleep on the small cot in front of him. She looked much the way she'd looked through the window of the scrying pool. Fragile and wounded. And he found, now that he was here, he didn't even know how to approach her. The emotions that churned around inside him as he stared down at her defied understanding. He wanted to go over to her, to wake her and take her into his arms; at the same time, he wanted to turn and flee the cell, to seek out those who had inflicted such pain on her and subject them to the most dire retribution that he could devise. No matter what the ultimate outcome of this drama would be, those responsible for this outrage would pay and pay dearly. He promised himself that. Beginning with that bastard, Ian Standish.

Before he could decide just what he should do, Minerva's eyes opened, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position and simply stared at him. She blinked determinedly and raised a slender hand to adjust her glasses as if she thought they must be showing her lies.

"Severus? Is that really you?" she asked in a voice that was thin and fragile as dry parchment.

His heart clenched at her tone, but he simply nodded and stood where he was. "Yes."

Her hand fell back to join its mate in her lap, and slowly, she began to twist them together. All she really wanted to do was jump to her feet and throw herself into his arms, but she couldn't make herself move. He was just standing there. Looking at her. Obviously uncomfortable. Apparently, he didn't feel the same way. He was already distancing himself from her. She should've known it would be this way. He didn't love her as she loved him, after all.

She bowed her head to hide a sudden rush of moisture to her eyes. Her throat felt tight as she forced out words in a whisper. "Where's Albus? Didn't he come with you?"

"Yes, he did."

She closed her eyes to better listen to that lovely deep voice. As it flowed across her mind like silk against her skin, a touch of dry amusement began to color the low tones. "He suddenly had an urgent need to see Amelia Bones as soon as we reached the cell door. I think it was his not so subtle way of making sure that we had some time alone together. Albus is more observant, and we were, perhaps, not as careful, as we thought."

Surprised by his words, she raised her eyes to his once more and caught an answering need in their depths.

"Minerva…" he whispered longingly as he slowly opened his arms, and she wasted no more time in getting up from her cot and moving into them as fast as she could.

He gasped sharply as she came into his embrace, clinging fiercely to him, squeezing him tightly and burrowing into what meager comfort he could offer. Hesitantly, he brought up one hand to stroke her hair lightly before burying his face in it and simply holding her tightly against him. Albus had been right. He had needed this…badly.

Time stood still as she grasped at him, memorized him, imprinted him more firmly on her soul. Desperately, she devoured whatever sensations she could find to indulge in. Breathing him in deeply, enjoying the familiar smell of him, that peculiar mixture of old parchment and mysterious potion ingredients that somehow came together in her mind to mean no one else but him. Her sore cheek rubbed gently against the stiff wool of his frock coat, enjoying its familiar feeling, beneath which she could hear the somber beating of his heart.

Finally, she raised her head a fraction and sighed. "I've missed you," she whispered. "I'm sorry, I know you probably don't want to hear that."

She could feel his head shake slightly against her hair, and his arms tightened perceptibly around her body, pulling her as close as he could get her. "No, don't be sorry. I've missed you, too," he admitted.

His quiet words warmed her thoroughly, and she raised her face and looked up into his eyes. She hated to see how worn and tired he looked. Suddenly, she realized with a pang of sorrow that her imprisonment had hurt him, too, and a fresh spasm of guilt washed through her. She'd made so many mistakes, but the biggest was that she hadn't trusted him when she should have. With a soft sigh, she admitted, "You were right, you know. I should have listened to you. I should have confided in Albus."

A wry smile forced itself onto his serious face. "Of course, I was right. Haven't you learned by now that I usually am? I trust you'll listen to me next time."

He felt her body shiver sharply against his. "There won't be a next time, I'm afraid," she whispered softly. "This is goodbye, Severus. As much as I'd prefer to be back at Hogwarts, teaching my classes, grading papers and exams, arguing over the Quidditch standings…and making love to you. I think we both know that I'm unlikely to get that chance."

The resignation in her voice dismayed him deeply, though he strove not to let it show how much.

"If someone had told me that Minerva McGonagall had given up the fight, I never would have believed them had I not heard it with my own ears. I thought you Gryffindors were always at your best when the odds were against you. I never thought you'd be a quitter, Minerva."

She sighed and shook her head, running a caressing hand across the surface of his frock coat, feeling the play of muscles beneath the heavy material, touching the buttons delicately with fingers that yearned to undo them just one more time. "I'm not quitting. I'll sit in that courtroom tomorrow and listen to the evidence against me. I'll keep my chin in the air and put up whatever meager defense I can, but it won't be enough. There's no point in denying the truth. Every scrap of evidence points to my guilt. There's not anything to base a defense on. Fighting against the inevitable just seems so senseless at this point. I can't see you bothering to fight a hopeless battle."

He shrugged and stroked her hair once more. "Perhaps not, but then I'm not a Gryffindor. Tilting at windmills has never been my style."

"Maybe I'm not really a Gryffindor either. I certainly don't feel particularly brave at the moment."

She looked up at him again. "My life is over, I'm afraid, but yours still has many years to go. Don't be seen to be supporting me tomorrow. In fact, don't even come to court." Her eyes prickled once more and her voice became slightly raspy with emotion. "I don't want to see you there. I'd like to remember you like this; here, where I can touch you…"

A helpless look came into her eyes and her voice faltered and died. Having no answer to give her, he gave in to what he truly wanted to do, and lowered his head to hers and kissed her. With a sob, she pulled him more closely against her and kissed him back as fervently and as passionately as she was able.

There were no more words. What they really needed each other to know was more effectively communicated in silence anyway.

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Dumbledore moved slowly down the main corridor on Level Two, heading for Amelia Bones' office. There wasn't any rush. After all, his main purpose had been to give Minerva and Severus some much needed time alone together. Though neither of the two of them would admit it to him, it was clear as crystal that somehow, as unlikely as it seemed, they'd fallen in love. He just hoped that they'd find the courage to admit it to each other, and that somehow he and Severus and Irma could find a way to save Minerva's life so that the two of them could enjoy many more years together.

As he turned the final corner before the entrance to the Offices of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement, he came face to face with the last person he either expected or wanted to see, Ian Standish.

Dumbledore stopped and waited for the slightly harried looking man to come up and face him.

Standish raised his eyebrows in surprise at this unexpected encounter, but placing a carefully sympathetic smile on his face, he decided to try to make the most of it.

"Good evening, Albus. I wasn't expecting to run into you here. Though I shouldn't be surprised, I suppose. How are you holding up? Are you ready for the trial tomorrow?"

"Ian. This is a surprise. Have you been to see Amelia?"

Standish nodded. "Yes. She had a few questions for me concerning my testimony for tomorrow. You know, I'm really very sorry about all this. I'm still dreadfully shocked by what I discovered in that pensive. I never would have believed such a thing of Minerva if I hadn't witnessed it with my own eyes. I certainly had no idea that anything of the sort had happened under my roof all those years ago."

"So you never suspected foul play when Henry Grant turned up missing?" Dumbledore watched him closely.

"No. Certainly not, or I would have reported my suspicions to the authorities at the time. Grant was a bit of a drifter. Frankly, it didn't surprise me to find that he'd simply disappeared into the night. Servants come and go. Surely, you understand that. House-elves with their oath of binding are a much more reliable workforce, but they aren't particularly good with horses. Nothing beats human servants in that regard."

Dumbledore nodded. "Did Minerva know Henry Grant well?"

"I don't believe so. He rarely left the stable yard. Certainly, he never came into the house, and Minerva wasn't fond of the horses, so she rarely went to the stables. Riding wasn't a hobby she indulged in. She'd much rather ride a broom than a horse. I'd have said she didn't even know the man. Obviously, I'd have been wrong." Standish shrugged casually.

"Well, that remains to be seen, I think. Minerva says that you told her that Henry Grant stole money from you. Is that true?"

Standish looked surprised. "Not to my knowledge. I wonder why she'd say that? Perhaps she's getting a bit desperate to escape her fate now that the trial is getting so close. I wish I could help her, I really do, but I won't lie for her."

Casually, Standish changed the subject. "Oh, by the way, I should tell you that I've got my report to the Board of Governors almost done. It's very favorable to you and your tenure as Headmaster. You've done a brilliant job with the old school, Albus. The Board should be well pleased to simply let you get on with the running of it…if they see it, of course."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. "If?"

Standish smiled a calculating smile. "Did I say if? I, of course, meant when. I am very much afraid that I won't have the time to get it to them until after the trial is over though. I'm sure you understand."

"Oh, yes. I'm sure that I do, Ian."

Standish's smile broadened. "Good. Well, I won't keep you, Albus. Good luck tomorrow. I do hope you can manage to save poor Minerva's life. She always meant a great deal to me, and I'd hate to think of her coming to such a sad end. It would be a terrible shame."

"Yes, it would," Dumbledore agreed.

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A shaken Irma Pince made her way back to the library from a dinner that she didn't eat. She hadn't taken a meal in the Great Hall for several days, not since she'd been devoting so much of her time to searching the collection for that elusive switching spell that Severus was so sure would save Minerva.

With the Potions master gone to visit with the incarcerated witch at the Ministry, Irma had decided that she might just nip down and get a little something more substantial to eat than she'd had lately. She thought that the extra boost a decent meal would give her, would help with her flagging energy level. She was sorry that she'd gone, though.

When she'd entered the hall, she'd come across Poppy and Filius huddled together over an article in the Daily Prophet concerning Minerva's upcoming trial. With somber faces and lowered tones, they'd insisted that she read it for herself.

From their expressions alone, she could tell that whatever the article said, it wasn't good for Minerva. She almost refused. The Daily Prophet seemed to get things wrong so often over the last few years; just look at all the lies and misinformation that they'd printed about Harry Potter, for goodness sake, but Flitwick had pointed out, rightly no doubt, that most of that had been simply a matter of Fudge exerting pressure on the media to spin their stories his way. With Fudge no longer in control of the Ministry, the Daily Prophet was likely to be more trustworthy than it had been in a long time.

So against her better judgment, she'd read the article and lost her appetite, probably forever.

If Minerva was found guilty of this horrible crime, they were going to execute her! Immediately! If the trial went against her, her dear friend could be dead within a few days. There'd been pictures of a gallows on which they were going to hang her, and an interview with a Mr. Pitt, who now ran Azkaban, talking about how they were all prepared at the prison to carry out the sentence of the court if she was found guilty. As if it had all been decided already.

Irma had fled from the hall without another word. Now she understood why Severus was so upset. He already knew the danger Minerva was in if they didn't find this spell soon enough. And now that she knew the truth, she knew that she couldn't afford to waste even another minute doing anything except searching every book she could find. Though there weren't all that many of them left.

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Snape shoved open the door to the library and hurried inside. As much as he'd needed to spend some time with Minerva, seeing her, touching her again, simply brought home how important it was that he not fail in his task here. He had to find that damned spell, and he had to do it now. Her life depended on him. There was no doubt about that. Albus had no case without it.

Perhaps Pince had managed to find something while he'd been gone. He certainly hoped so. They were almost out of time.

Heading for the secluded table at the back of the large room where they'd been working non-stop for the last few days, he rounded the corner of a bookshelf and stopped dead in his tracks.

The table that they'd been using to hold the books they'd been searching, which had still been piled high when he'd left, was now virtually empty. Only two volumes remained and Irma was in the act of picking them up and returning them to the shelves as he watched.

"What are you doing?" he exclaimed sharply.

Irma looked up to see him standing there and hurriedly lifted a hand to brush a stray tear from her cheek.

"Severus. I wondered when you'd get back," she said softly.

He stalked over to the empty table and glared at her. "Why are you putting the books away?"

She shrugged helplessly. "We've been through all of them. These last few had no spells in them at all, and a couple of them were simply later editions of volumes we'd already searched. I'm so sorry, but I'm afraid we've gone through all the likely tomes in the library's entire collection. The spell we need just isn't here."

All the blood drained from his complexion leaving it as white as one of the castle ghosts.

"That can't be true," he whispered painfully.

"I'm sorry," Irma murmured helplessly. "I wish it wasn't true…but it is."

They stared at each other in horror. What would they do now?

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**Next Chapter:** Irma remembers something important. (I have been having difficulty using the preview/edit function. I apologize for any formatting errors that I've been unable to correct.)


	40. Before the Battle

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

Chapter Forty: Before the Battle 

Dumbledore was passed into Minerva's cell by the guards quite early on Monday morning. The woman who waited for him within wasn't the woman he'd left there the evening before, however.

Minerva laughed grimly at the surprise on her friend's face as she stood up from her cot and smoothed down her pristine robes before crossing to stand beside him.

"I do look a bit different, don't I, Albus? You shouldn't be surprised, though. Minister Gallagher wouldn't want there to be even a trace of sympathy for me in the adoring crowd he plans to impress today. And, after all, an obviously beaten and mistreated older woman just might garner a few sympathetic glances. So they cleaned and pressed my robes and returned them to me this morning. The healers were here last night. There isn't so much as a bruise left anywhere on my body or on my face to attest to how I've really been treated during this last week. We wouldn't want the truth to confuse anyone, now would we, when we can eliminate all the evidence of ill treatment with the wave of a wand?"

Dumbledore sighed at the bitter tone of his friend's voice. "You're right, I should have anticipated this move on their part, but perhaps it's just as well. I was quite worried about all your injuries. They should have been attended to long before this."

Minerva snorted indelicately. "Yes, but then most of them shouldn't have been inflicted in the first place. If they were so concerned for my well being, I'd have been helped when the injuries were first incurred. Also, there'd someone at the prison with medical training, but apparently, the Ministry has never seen the need. This," she waved at herself, "was done purely for show, and to prevent the general public from knowing how badly even those only accused of a crime are really treated at Azkaban."

"I'm sorry, Minerva. I'm sorry that you've had to go through all this. It never should have happened."

She shook her head and sighed. "No, it shouldn't have, and it's largely my own fault for not coming to you in the first place. I was just trying to protect the school, but I wasn't thinking it through. Anyway, there's no point in going into all of that again now. You might be interested to know that the Aurors paid me a little visit last night as well. I haven't had so much company in ages. They examined me for an obliviation scar."

Dumbledore nodded with interest. "And did they tell you what they found?"

"Would you expect them to?" She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise. "No. They came in and told me what they were going to do. They did it, and then they left. I will say that they didn't look terribly happy when they left, so I imagine that they did see the scar. Since Severus told me it was there, I'd expect them to find it. Certainly, he knows an obliviation scar when he sees one."

"Well, that works in our favor, at least," Dumbledore said.

"Does it? Really? All it shows is that sometime in the past, I was obliviated by someone. There's no way to know who, or why, or what memories were removed."

"That's true," Dumbledore agreed. "But it will raise a doubt."

After a pause, Minerva spoke quietly. "A doubt… I suppose that's all that can be expected. A doubt won't count for much against that pensieve though, which I've still not been allowed to see, by the way. Nor will it count against my wand, with its incriminating spells just waiting to be called forth."

Dumbledore looked uncomfortable.

Noticing his expression, Minerva frowned. "What? Is there more evidence that you haven't told me about?"

"Two Aurors came to Hogwarts yesterday and searched through your things. They found the ring that you wore in the pensieve memories," he admitted.

Of course they would. Her heart sank a little further. She'd remembered when she first saw the memories that she still had that ring, hadn't she? Actually, it was a bit surprising that it took them this long to go looking for it.

"Well, that doesn't really surprise me," she said softly. "Though having the ring isn't any more damaging than watching me commit murder in a pensieve, is it?"

"We could try to suggest that you'd been placed under Imperius. There'd be no way to disprove that."

"There's no way to prove it either," she snapped.

Dumbledore continued, " I certainly intend to introduce the fact that Ian plans to benefit from your death and could have tampered with the evidence somehow. The fact that the pensieve has no sound is one thing that's highly suspicious."

"To us, perhaps. I'm not at all sure that most people would find it suspicious. I have a feeling that the Wizengemot as a whole aren't overly concerned about whether or not they can hear my voice in the pensieve since the images it holds are still fresh and clear. Oh, Albus, the plain truth is that you really have no case to present, isn't it? All you can do is parade a few witnesses in front of the court who can attest to my leading an exemplary life ever since my divorce, but what does that really prove? That I changed my ways? That I never killed again?"

Dumbledore frowned, and Minerva reached out to run a comforting hand down his arm before moving away.

"You can question the evidence, but you can't really refute any of it. All you can do is delay the inevitable and buy me a few more days of life. And to what end? So I can sit in my cell and think about it for a while longer? So I can have more nightmares and anticipate and experience the pain and fear of my impending death a few more times? I'm not sure that it's worth it," she whispered hollowly.

"What are you saying?"

She expelled a ragged sigh and turned away from her friend. A pang of guilt shot through her as she realized that she'd promised Severus that she wasn't simply going to quit, but fighting on in the face of certain defeat just seemed like such a waste. Maybe it would simply be best to get it over with quickly…for all of them.

"I guess I'm saying that I'm tired of living with the certain knowledge of my death. That perhaps I should simply plead guilty and just get it over with. Owning up to my crime would be the honorable thing to do, after all, wouldn't it?"

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A very disheveled Severus Snape paced back and forth across the length of his sitting room. His rumpled shirt was misbuttoned and partially untucked, and his hair was wildly disarrayed, as if he'd been running unsteady fingers through it for hours. Totally ignored, the candles on his mantel burned low and sputtered in their waxy remains, casting grotesque flickering shadows of his movements over the gray stone walls.

Despite spending the entire night pacing and thinking, he still hadn't come up with a truly satisfactory plan of action. That damned spell was out there. He should have realized that a place like Hogwarts, with its lack of tolerance for the Dark Arts, wouldn't be likely to have the answer within its collection, no matter how extensive it was. Too many years of associating with damned noble Gryffindors had obviously clouded his mind in this regard.

Any public, and he used the term loosely, collection that specialized in the Dark Arts would want to know what he was searching for if he asked for permission to search their library. He could lie, of course, but the stacks wouldn't be open regardless. He couldn't simply walk in and begin to browse. Those in charge of the collection would insist on bringing what he needed to him, and he'd have to choose correctly with very little to go on. So pursuing that course of action would be nothing but a waste of time.

What he really needed was the right private collection. One owned by someone who preferably owed him a favor or at least by someone he could bully into letting him look through it with no questions asked. The real problem was that he had to pick the right person the first time. There simply wasn't time to do this more than once. Minerva's trial would be starting at any moment, and with the strength of the evidence against her, it wasn't likely to last very long.

So whom should he choose? Stewart owed him a rather large favor and was quite easy to manipulate, but his collection wasn't likely to be top notch, and his interests tended more towards torture and blood sports than rather subtle spell work. Gardner might be a good choice. He had an extremely extensive Dark Arts collection, and no real connection to the Death Eaters. His wife was annoying though, always hovering and wanting to listen in on conversations. She was both a gossip and a flirt. The worst possible combination.

Snape stopped his pacing and considered a new possibility as it occurred to him. There was Burroughs. Yes, he was particularly interested in deception. Surely if a grimoire existed that contained this spell, he'd have it in his library. He'd used most of his wealth to accumulate his collection, and it was vast. Books were a passion with him.

Unfortunately, very little else was. Which made him a tough man to force into anything, and they'd never been particular friends. All of which might make it difficult to persuade him to allow an in-depth perusal of his collection, but it was still worth a try. If he couldn't get a look, he'd go to Gardner. Surely he could get rid of the wife, somehow. Chocolates laced with a sleeping draught should do the trick if necessary.

Having made a decision, he grabbed up his jacket, which was hanging crookedly from his desk chair, and began to slip it on. Before he could manage more than one sleeve however, a rather frantic knocking began on his door.

Still trying to shrug into the coat, he opened the door and glared out at whoever had a death wish and was surprised to find his gaze being met by the earnest and excited eyes of Irma Pince.

"What do you want?" he growled. "I don't have much time."

Irma was appalled at Snape's appearance. She'd never seen him look worse, and considering how horrid he'd looked yesterday, that was saying something. His skin was pasty and his hair was straggly and gave new meaning to the word disheveled, and he looked as if he'd spent several nights sleeping in his clothes and not at all comfortably. But then she imagined that she didn't exactly look her best either after tossing and turning all night trying to come up with an answer, so she had no right to talk. But she'd remembered something…something important, and he had to know about it!

"Severus!" she exclaimed in an excited voice. "I completely forgot about the storeroom. It's been here longer than I have, of course, so I suppose I could be forgiven, but it's not as if I didn't know it was there. I simply haven't been in there for ages, so I'd forgotten about it, but I think it might have what we need." She beamed excitedly at him.

He, in turn, having finally managed to shrug into his coat properly, simply glared down at her in utter confusion. "What on earth are you babbling about?"

"I know where we might be able to find the answers we've been looking for. There's another collection of books right here in the castle, and they're almost all specifically focused on the Dark Arts!"

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Snape had never seen Irma Pince move so fast. Even with his much longer legs, he was having a very difficult time keeping up with her as they hurried through the dungeons and swept up the staircase to the ground floor of the castle.

"So where are these forgotten books then?" Snape managed to ask after they'd attained level ground once more and were heading deeper into the castle.

Irma tossed the peevish Potions master a smile and kept walking. "The storeroom is in the base of the Green tower. Before you ask, I don't know why the books were stored there; they were already there when I came to Hogwarts. I looked through them briefly at the time they were first shown to me, but I didn't see anything that would have been proper or useful for the circulating collection, so I never went back to them again. Over the years, I'd quite forgotten their existence, but as I recall, the room was full of these books, some in horrible condition, others in languages that I didn't even recognize, but virtually all of them dealt with some aspect or other of the Dark Arts."

That sounded promising, so Snape frowned and refrained from pestering her with further questions. He'd know the truth of it soon enough. If the room was what she said it was, then it could certainly be just what they were looking for, if it was another dead end, then he could spend a few moments unleashing his frustrations on Pince before moving on with his original plan. Very little time would be lost in the long run and some much needed release of suppressed anger might be accomplished at the same time. Either way, it was worth a quick hike through the castle.

The two of them continued down one corridor after another, moving from the large expansive spaces of the castle proper to the smaller more intimate hallways of the less used areas. Not a soul seemed to be anywhere around. Although Albus might not approve, Snape had already cancelled his final classes of the term. The students were leaving for Christmas break on Wednesday anyway. He had much more important things to spend his time doing right now than babysitting them through their final hours of captivity when all they could think about was how close they were to going on holiday, and all he could think about was how Minerva's life depended on him.

Finally, Irma turned down a short narrow passage that ended with a stout wooden door protected by a large gate of wrought iron. Fishing a bulky set of keys from a pocket, the librarian unlocked first the gate, swinging it aside impatiently, and then the door itself. The hinges squealed out their displeasure at being put back into service after so many years of neglect, and then finally, Snape and Pince peered into the round room beyond.

The walls were lined with bookshelves, but the tomes that occupied them were not exactly arranged in an orderly fashion. Books were piled everywhere. On the shelves, on the floor, even on the stout wooden table and matching chairs that sat in the middle of the chamber.

Dust and webbing, both occupied and empty, covered every possible surface. Meager light drifted down through the thick atmosphere from several small grime encrusted windows set high in the walls, and there was the panicked sound of scurrying feet as whatever had been chewing on the contents of the room tried to find a safer place to hide.

Snape brushed by Irma Pince and stepped inside. The chamber was permeated with the tantalizing smell of ancient, dusty parchment and smoldering Dark Magic. It fairly crackled in the air. How such a room as this had been allowed to sit undisturbed at Hogwarts for all these years without his knowledge astonished him. He was obviously losing his touch if, in all his nightly prowls over every inch of this place, he'd still managed to miss discovering that this was here.

His eager eyes caressed the crumbling tomes that covered every surface. The answer would be here, if it was anywhere; he was suddenly certain of that. The very real question was…would they be able to find it in time? Books such as these, so carefully warded and bespelled, didn't give up their secrets easily or quickly, but just thinking about all the arcane knowledge that sat here, ripe for the taking, stirred his blood in anticipation. He'd really have to be careful and not allow himself to get distracted from his task by all the fascinating possibilities that would be laying themselves before him and beckoning him to follow.

Irma stepped up next to him and touched his arm. "Well, what do you think? Is it worth looking through these?"

Snape turned and gazed down at her in silence for a moment before answering with a slow smile. "Oh, yes…without a doubt."

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Dumbledore stepped forward and wrapped his arms around his dearest friend, pulling her close against his chest and holding her tightly. He could feel her tremble slightly as she raised her arms and embraced him back.

"Standing up and admitting to having committed a crime would indeed be the honorable thing to do…if you were guilty. But confessing falsely is definitely not honorable," he stated softly.

Minerva pulled back a bit and looked up into his serious face, but he continued to speak before she could object.

"I do understand that it seems hopeless at the moment, Minerva. I know that we don't seem to have much of a case, and that the evidence against you is very strong. However, that doesn't mean that it's accurate. Although the evidence seems to have placed a strong doubt in your mind as to your guilt, if you dig down deeply into your heart, you have to know, as I do, that you're simply not capable of murdering anyone. It's not something you would ever do. So no matter how bad things look, there is an explanation out there, and we have to find it."

"I do want to believe that. I never would have thought myself capable of murder, but as hard as I've tried, I simply cannot come up with any other explanation. And if such an explanation exists, we've run out of time to find it," she stated simply.

"There are too many small things that don't add up. Why is the pensieve silent? The only explanation that makes sense is that it's silent because someone doesn't want anyone to hear what you and Mr. Grant actually said to each other in those stables all those years ago. This is the same reason that your remaining memories were obliviated. To prevent you from knowing what actually happened and revealing it in your defense. That means it's important."

Minerva nodded. "Yes, all that makes sense, but it still doesn't get us any further along towards knowing what did happen. Then there's still the matter of my wand, which proves that the spells cast were exactly what everyone thinks they are."

"There must be an explanation for that as well."

Pulling out of his arms, Minerva turned and paced across her small cell before turning back with an expression of bewilderment on her tired face. "But what could that explanation be?" she asked without any real hope of answer.

Dumbledore hesitated. If he told her of Severus' suspicions, it would give her an explanation, and perhaps a hope to cling to, but if the frantically searching wizard couldn't find the spell in time then the weight of having failed her would fall on his head.

Giving Minerva false hope and then the knowledge that Severus had not been able to help her when she needed him most would crush her. It would be bad enough for Severus if he didn't manage to find the spell in time. He'd blame himself forever for her death. There was no need to make things worse by letting Minerva know that Severus might hold the key to saving her life. Just in case, he failed.

Dumbledore drew himself up impressively and smiled an encouraging smile. "Minerva, you are innocent of this crime. There is no evidence that the court can present that cannot be doubted because nothing is irrefutable. We can show that the timing of the discovery of this evidence is highly suspicious, and that the person who discovered it had much to gain personally by presenting it to the court. We can show that the evidence itself most likely has been tampered with, and we can prove that your mind has been tampered with as well. So, please, do not give in to fear. We have an excellent chance of winning this case and forcing the court to admit that it simply doesn't know what really happened to Henry Grant, if you'll fight beside me. Will you?" He held out his hand.

She stared at it for a long moment, then years and years of standing and fighting even when the odds were against her clicked into gear once more, and she straightened her spine and crossed the room again to clasp his hand firmly in hers.

"All right, Albus. I won't give up. I'll fight with you until the very end…whatever that turns out to be."

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**Next Chapter:** Minerva's trial begins. (I wanted to take a moment to thank everyone who has given me feedback on this story. I have appreciated hearing from all of you and have been very pleased that you could find a SS/MM story to be interesting enough to keep you reading. Thank you. I have still found it impossible to use the preview/edit feature.)


	41. And So It Begins

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

Chapter Forty One: And So It Begins… 

Minerva felt as if her insides had turned to ice, and she had a hard time not shivering as she stood with Albus and two burly guards in a small anteroom off the new courtroom that Minister Gallagher had created on the Atrium level of Ministry Headquarters. She peeked inside the large, airy room through a crack in the door and watched as the banks of seats filled up with chattering members of the general public, all of them apparently eager for the spectacle to begin.

How would they react when she was brought in? Would they jeer at the murderess? Or would they simply whisper loudly behind their hands to each other, trying to assess the truth of the matter. Which would be harder to ignore?

Turning away from the audience, Minerva considered the rest of the room. The main bench where the Wizengamot interrogators would sit was definitely lower and more accessible than the one in the shadowy courtroom hidden away in the lower depths of the building, but it still looked extremely intimidating to her. Set at an angle in front of the bench, there was a single chair waiting to be occupied by the various witnesses who would be called to present evidence. The tables for the defense and the presenting interrogator faced the bench from opposite sides of the room. There wasn't a chain in sight. A small thing to be grateful for, she reminded herself.

Albus touched Minerva lightly on the shoulder. "It's time to go in. Are you ready?"

She glanced up into his confident and familiar face and nodded, attempting a weak smile. "As ready as I ever will be, I suppose." Deliberately, she straightened up and lifted her chin. No matter how much she doubted her chances at this trial, nor indeed, how uncertain she was about her own guilt, she wasn't about to let Albus down by appearing weak and cowardly in front of the court. He was doing his best to defend her. The least she could do was appear worthy of his defense.

His hand tightened briefly in reassurance, and then dropped away from her to rest at his side. Pushing open the door, they entered the room together. An orgy of flashbulbs burst in the quiet air, startling her briefly, though they shouldn't have. She certainly knew that the press would not be excluded from this little show trial. Indeed from the number of questions that were hurled in her direction to accompany the bright popping, it almost seemed as if the press made up the majority of those awaiting the start of the trial.

She tried to keep her gaze focused only on her seat, but she couldn't help but look up once or twice as they crossed the room. Most of the faces that stared back at her were complete strangers, or only vaguely familiar, and it was impossible to tell their level of hostility from only a quick glance. She could only hope that they all hadn't already made up their minds about her guilt.

In reality, it was only a few steps from the doorway to the table where they were to sit for the duration of the trial, but it seemed like an eternity passed before they'd managed to cross that space and Minerva could slip into her seat, turn her back to the mass of staring, whispering people, and focus on the bench where the people who held her life in their hands would sit.

As she pulled out her chair to sit down, waiting for the latent flashbulb dazzle to go away and her vision to properly return, she caught a brief glimpse of a small island of friendly faces in the midst of the sea of gawkers. Molly Weasley, her son Bill, and Remus Lupin all smiled encouraging smiles in her direction from a spot halfway up the rows of spectators, and she tried to smile back at them. As hard as it was to feel confident about these proceedings, she was trying her best to appear outwardly calm and serene, and the unexpected sight of encouraging friends helped immensely.

Once Dumbledore and McGonagall were seated, a door on the other side of the room opened and Minister Gallagher swept in, followed several paces back by Percy Weasley, who was no doubt acting as Court Scribe for the trial. When Fudge had been Minister of Magic, he usually sat on the bench and presided over the trials as one of the panel, but Gallagher wasn't an official member of the Wizengemot, a detail he no doubt sought to remedy by attaining the position of Minister of Magic permanently.

Klaus Gallagher was a tall man with a shock of wavy blond hair. He had a square jaw and slightly hooded gray eyes, which seldom mirrored the smile that seemed perpetually engraved on his lips. He was a skillful politician, and this trial was his chance to shine. With confident strides, he crossed the room, smiled attractively for the audience, pausing so that he could be photographed to good effect, nodded solemnly to Dumbledore, and slid into his seat, artfully draping his sober black robes around him. The more awkward Percy trailed along in his shadow, and took his seat at the same table, importantly arranging and rearranging his parchment, ink and quill to his satisfaction.

Once the acting Minister of Magic had taken his seat, yet another door opened and three impressive personages dressed in plum-colored robes adorned with silver W's made their entrance. They crossed the room and took their seats in the center of the tall bench facing the audience. Amelia Bones, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement sat in the middle, flanked by two men. One was a tall, slightly stooped elderly man with an enormous nose and beady, quick eyes, while the other was a younger, rather fat man with graying hair and a huge walrus moustache.

Once everyone was seated, Amelia Bones looked out at the courtroom, and picked up a gray marble ball that rested in a matching marble dish in front of her. Swiftly, she struck the dish with the ball, eliciting a sharp retort that reverberated around the courtroom. When she removed her hand from the ball, it began to glow a bright purple, signifying the opening of the court.

"Nineteenth of December, murder trial of Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Hogsmeade, Scotland is now begun. Interrogators: Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement; Athelbert Julius Carstairs, senior interrogator of the Wizengamot; Jeriah Marcus Blackstone, Undersecretary, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, presiding. Klaus Leander Gallagher, Acting Minister of Magic, chief prosecutorial interrogator. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, advocate for the defense. Court Scribe, Percy Ignatius Weasley."

Madam Bones paused and scanned the courtroom, her monocle glinting sharply in the torchlight, but every eye was fastened on her and no sound, save for the occasional rustle of clothing, could be heard so she continued, "We will begin with a reading of the charges…"

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Snape sat at one end of a heavy oak table and carefully examined the book in front of him for traps and spells. It seemed to be clear, as most of them had been so far, though the first one he'd touched had had a very nasty stinging hex embedded in the spine. The fingers of his left hand still tingled slightly from his contact with it. So it seemed to pay to be careful, though he hated to waste the extra time. The massive pendulum that marked off the hours and minutes in his mind was getting louder and louder with each ponderous swing.

With a sigh, his companion closed the book that she'd been looking through and, getting to her feet, she took it across the room and placed it on a shelf that they'd designated for rejects. Books that didn't cover their subject matter, books that neither of them could read, and books that they'd eliminated from consideration after examining them thoroughly. The morning was still young and the pile of books quite small in comparison with those that were still waiting to be examined.

Irma turned around and placed a hand on her lower back, massaging the muscles as she tried to work a kink out before resuming her place at the table. Snape was passing books though his tests quite rapidly. At the rate he was going, they'd both be able to spend their time reading soon. Which was all to the good. There was a part of her that was terrified that she might not recognize the proper spell when she saw it.

In fact, she'd already asked Snape's opinion several times about things that she'd come across. None of these books seemed to be as cut and dried as those she was more familiar with. She found herself wondering if Dark Magic wasn't called dark simply because so often the explanations and descriptions of effects were so much more murky than for those dealing with spells of the light side of magic. Irma took her seat once more and pulled another crumbling tome towards her with a sigh. Maybe this one would be the one. She had to keep hoping.

Once he'd transferred his stack of books to Irma's side of the table, Snape got to his feet and crossed the room to the shelves where most of the waiting books remained. Slowly, he examined the titles on a single shelf. One of them was immediately levitated across the room to rest with the rejects, but the others were swiftly sent to his end of the table to be more carefully examined.

Extracting an ancient timepiece from his pocket, he flipped open the cover and examined the face. The trial had begun. Impatiently, he closed the watch and jammed it back into his pocket. Then he returned to his seat and began to examine the next batch of books for traps. With deliberate care, he banished Minerva's face from his mind. He couldn't afford to let images of what he couldn't change distract him from what he had to do. Thinking about her and what she was enduring wouldn't help. This was all he should be focusing on now. This was all he could do; he could only hope that it would be enough, and not too little…too late.

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"I call Mr. Ian Standish to give testimony," stated Minister Gallagher in a clear loud voice.

There was a brief rustling in the audience, and Ian Standish, wearing a dark blue robe of a conservative cut, rose to his feet from a seat several rows behind where Minister Gallagher was standing. He made his way to the front of the courtroom and strode briskly across the floor to seat himself in the chair that was intended for witnesses. With an air of confidence, he glanced around the courtroom, taking in the size and composition of his audience. When he came to the defense table, his gaze passed over both Dumbledore and McGonagall as if neither was there at all.

Once satisfied that he'd made his presence felt, he turned his attention politely to the bench and waited to be spoken to.

Madam Bones nodded to Ian cordially and said, "Please, state your name for the record."

"My name is Ian Kyle Standish." Standish complied with a pleasant smile.

Minister Gallagher had used the time while Ian was making his entrance to cross the room to a small table that stood against the front of the bench where the Wizengamot members sat. Now, he picked up a white stone bowl from that table and approached Ian with it held carefully in his hands. "The first thing we need to do, Mr. Standish is to have you identify a few items that we'll need to enter into evidence."

Ian nodded and leaned casually back in his chair. "Very well."

Gallagher held up the bowl. "Do you recognize this, Mr. Standish?"

"Yes, Minister. It's a pensieve that I found hidden in a concealed cupboard at my home. I turned it in to the Ministry myself." Somehow, he managed to look both highly self-satisfied and sadly disappointed at the same time.

Gallagher nodded and then he turned back to the table, set the pensieve down, and picked up a woman's ring that lay next to it. Crossing the distance to the witness chair again, Gallagher handed the ring to Standish.

"This is a small woman's ring made of gold with a stylized M engraved on it. Have you ever seen it before, Mr. Standish?"

Standish made a show of carefully examining the ring. "Yes, it's identical to a ring that Minerva McGonagall used to wear quite frequently. I haven't seen it in many years." He handed the ring back to Gallagher, who accepted it and returned it to the table without comment, exchanging the ring for a wand, which he also handed to the witness.

"Finally, do you recognize this wand, Mr. Standish?" he asked.

Ian nodded again as he accepted the wand, turning it lightly in his hands. "Yes. I found this wand in the same cupboard where the pensieve had been hidden." He handed the wand back to Gallagher.

"Did you recognize the wand? Was it yours by any chance?"

Ian smiled. "No. It certainly wasn't mine, but I did recognize it, although I hadn't seen it for many years. It was one that had belonged to my former wife, Minerva McGonagall."

There was a brief murmur from the avidly watching audience at this. Gallagher turned and shot a sharp look at Minerva as he asked, "The same Minerva McGonagall who sits here before us today accused of murder?"

"Yes. The very same," intoned Ian solemnly as his cold gaze fell on Minerva and forced her to work very hard to suppress a shiver of fear and revulsion.

"When was the last time that you saw that wand, Mr. Standish?" asked Gallagher calmly.

"Well, I don't remember for certain. Sometime early in our marriage. Minerva lost it, or claimed that she had at the time. I never saw it after that."

Gallagher nodded and returned the wand to the table. "Would the loss of the wand happen to correspond to the time of the disappearance of Henry Grant?" he asked casually.

Ian nodded. "Yes, as I recall, it did."

With a decisive smile, Gallagher continued, "Very well. We'll return to the matter of the wand later. Right now, I'd like to establish your relationship with the defendant."

Ian nodded and schooled his face into a somber expression.

"You have described Minerva McGonagall as your former wife. How long were you married?"

"We were married for six years. The marriage was dissolved amicably almost fifty years ago."

"I see. May I ask why you divorced?"

"I needed to produce an heir to carry on the family line. After a time, it became apparent that Minerva wasn't able to have children. Ours had been an arranged marriage. There were clauses in the marriage contract that allowed for the dissolution of the marriage with no loss to either party if children could not be produced from the union. We invoked that clause and divorced quietly."

Minerva tried to ignore a sudden tightening of her throat. Though Ian hadn't said anything that wasn't true, to hear her most private pain spelled out so coldly, in such a public forum, felt as if someone had plunged a knife into her heart. She resolutely kept her eyes riveted to the front of the courtroom, not daring to look either to the right or left in case she caught anyone's eye.

"Were you acquainted with Henry Grant, the victim in this proceeding?" asked Gallagher.

"Yes, of course. He worked for me during my marriage to Minerva. He took care of the horses and lived in a flat over the stables. He seemed to be a good worker, though I didn't really know him that well personally." Ian shifted uncomfortably in his chair and his eyes slid away from the Minister for the first time. Suddenly, Minerva had a strong sense that he was lying. Somehow she had a feeling that Ian had known Henry Grant much better than he was willing to admit.

"Was it a surprise when he disappeared from your employ?" asked Gallagher.

"Oh, yes." Ian nodded emphatically. "One day he was there, and the next he was gone. I was very surprised."

"Didn't that concern you?" Gallagher sounded surprised himself.

"His going was a surprise, the fact that he'd done it wasn't all that much of a shock. Grant had a reputation as a somewhat casual worker, so it didn't seem too hard to believe that he'd simply decided to leave without telling anyone. His rooms over the stable had been cleared of his belongings, so the natural thought was that he'd done it himself and left voluntarily. I'd had some misgivings about hiring him in the first place because of his reputation for being a bit unreliable, but he was very good with the horses and good groomsmen could be difficult to find, so I gave him a shot. Up until this point, it seemed to have worked out just fine."

Gallagher turned and deliberately paced away from Ian towards the audience before swinging back and asking the question he'd been aiming at. "How did you happen to find this pensieve that revealed a rather different end to your association with Grant than you'd believed to this point?"

Ian settled comfortably into his chair and assumed a serious demeanor. "The pensieve was hidden in a secret cupboard in the back of a wardrobe in the room that had belonged to Minerva while we were married. No one had used that room since she left me. My current wife preferred the more lavish suite on the other side of my own bedroom. Since the children's rooms and the guest rooms were all in other wings of the house, I simply left Minerva's room the way she left it and no one really gave it much notice."

"So what sent you into the room now?" the Minister asked.

"My wife, Nelda, had decided that she wanted to redo much of the house. She wanted to turn Minerva's old room into an office for herself. Nelda has always been a bit…sensitive…about Minerva. I think that she's always felt a bit inadequate in comparison to my first wife, though she has no real reason to, certainly. Yes, her family history isn't quite as illustrious as the McGonagalls, but that's really irrelevant in the face of the fact that she was able to provide me with three fine sons to carry on the Standish line."

Ian's eyes gleamed faintly, and he glanced pointedly at Minerva who stared back as impassively as she could manage. Failing to get the reaction he apparently hoped for, he turned away and continued, "I've always tried to reassure Nelda on this point, but that feeling has seemed to persist. Anyway, I thought that before she went into the room to see what she wanted to have done with it, I'd take a look through it to be sure that there weren't any lingering reminders of Minerva to cause her any unexpected pain. While I was inspecting a wardrobe, I happened to put my hand against the back wall and a hidden compartment opened up. When I looked inside, I found both the pensieve and the wand resting on the floor."

Gallagher glanced significantly towards the audience for a moment to judge the reaction to this statement before turning back to Standish to inquire, "What did you do then?"

"Well, I was surprised, of course. I certainly had no idea that a hidden cupboard was even there. Naturally curious, I removed the wand and the pensieve and seeing that the pensieve contained memories, I looked inside to see what those memories were."

"And what did you find when you looked into the pensieve, Mr. Standish?" Gallagher's voice held a note of anticipation.

"I found myself in the old stables along with my former wife, looking just as she had when we were married. It seemed clear that the memory in the pensieve belonged to her, and I followed her into the stable as she sought out Henry Grant. I watched, at first quite mystified, and then equally horrified, as Minerva argued with Grant and then drew her wand and cast a spell that struck him down before my eyes. As I continued to watch in shocked dismay, she knelt and checked to be sure that he was dead."

"And was he?" asked Gallagher pointedly.

"Oh, yes," exclaimed Ian. "Henry Grant was most certainly quite dead, and as far as I could see, Minerva was the one who killed him."

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**Next Chapter:** The trial continues and Dumbledore gets his chance to question Ian Standish.


	42. Peering Beneath the Surface

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Two: Peering Beneath the Surface**

As she closed yet another book and stood to place it with the other rejected volumes, Irma Pince gave her companion a sideways glance and timidly asked a question that had been preying on her mind for some time. "Severus, what sort of defense can Albus put forth for Minerva without this spell? Is there any evidence at all in her favor?"

Snape raised his eyes from the book he was examining and blinked to bring them into focus on the woman standing before him. With a sigh, he answered reluctantly, "The evidence that Albus can present is slight. He can, of course, be sure that Minerva's stellar reputation as a pillar of the community is spelled out for all to see, but that really proves nothing one way or the other. Other than that, all he can really do is try to cast doubt on the evidence that the prosecution puts forth. He can point out that the pensieve that seems to show Minerva committing this crime has apparently been tampered with, for instance."

An uneasy frown crossed his face, and he turned back to the book on the table in front of him. "Of course, without being able to explain just why it was tampered with or who did the tampering, that may not mean much. The visual evidence is so strong that simply not hearing the words of the spell probably won't seem that important to most people unless we can show them exactly why it matters."

Irma nodded and placing her book on the shelf that held a growing number of unhelpful volumes, she returned to her place at the table to take up the searching of another book. Unless they were successful at finding that spell, any explanation that was presented would be nothing but another theory, and so not of very much use.

"Isn't there anything else that Albus can mention? Anything at all?" she pleaded desperately.

Snape's hands tightened, his fingers digging into the worn dragonhide binding of the slim book in his grasp. "That fool Standish has already made inquiries into obtaining Minerva's estate if she is found guilty and executed. That fact certainly should raise some question as to his motive for coming forth with this evidence against her, and I'm certain that Albus will raise the point, if possible. It was rather careless of Standish not to wait until the trial was over, but the man is obviously becoming a bit desperate, and that could certainly work in Minerva's favor."

"Oh, I hope so," exclaimed Irma fervently. "Why would he be that desperate for money? Do you know? Does he have a large number of creditors after him?"

Snape's eyes gleamed and a small tic near his left temple began to jump rhythmically. He knew exactly why Ian Standish was so desperate for money, but he couldn't simply tell Pince the truth, no matter how tempting it was. She was completely ignorant of the existence of the Order of the Phoenix, and certainly had no idea that he or Standish had any connection to the Dark Lord, and it was important for him, at least, that she never find out.

"As a matter of fact, yes. He is in debt to a variety of creditors. I imagine that they have been making his life very difficult for some time. Minerva's money would go a long way towards getting them off his back."

Irma was appalled. "How horrid! How could anyone be so selfish and callous that they'd allow the death of an innocent person simply so they could obtain their money. Especially someone whom they were once married to. Someone they once, at least, pretended to care for. Ian Standish is a despicable man."

"Oh, yes, he is," murmured Snape in a soft, icy tone. "And no matter how this turns out, he'll pay for what he's done. I will promise you that."

Irma shivered at the cold certainty in Snape's voice. Suddenly, she found that she had absolutely no doubt that Ian Standish was living on borrowed time, and with a shock, she realized that that realization actually pleased her. With trembling hands and an unsettled heart, she turned back to her task and reached for the next book in her pile.

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"Did you love Minerva McGonagall when you married her, Mr. Standish?"

Albus Dumbledore rose to his feet and slowly approached the witness in his chair. Standish adjusted his position in the seat, and the glance that he now directed towards this new questioner was a wary one.

"Well, ours was an arranged marriage, as I believe I already mentioned. Our fathers had been good friends for many years. The families had been neighbors of long standing, and they had dearly wanted a uniting of our two bordering estates. However, I certainly didn't object. Minerva was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen. I'd been quite taken with her when I was growing up. She was intelligent, magically powerful, and she had an impeccable lineage besides. What more could I have asked for? I felt quite fortunate, and I certainly fell in love with her." Ian directed a smile towards the woman watching quietly from the defense table and was slightly surprised and disconcerted when she didn't look away but instead simply narrowed her eyes and stared defiantly back at him.

Dumbledore nodded solemnly and moved closer, and Standish returned his attention to him.

"Yes, an impeccable lineage indeed, with an impeccable inheritance as well," Dumbledore continued. "The McGonagall estate, which borders your own, as you said, is quite vast and very rich. Much more substantial and valuable than your own, I believe. A real prize."

"Not as much as the woman herself." Standish countered with a smile.

Dumbledore acknowledged that statement with a smile of his own. "Well, I would certainly agree with that statement, but I'm afraid that I find myself a bit skeptical of you making that claim. Especially in light of your recent attempts to acquire Minerva's estate for yourself in the event that you manage to get her convicted and executed for this crime that you uncovered."

Standish shifted uneasily in his seat to an accompanying chorus of excited mutterings from the watching crowd. "Don't be ridiculous," he protested.

"Am I being ridiculous? Somehow, I don't think so. I can name at least three people, all highly placed within the Ministry, who have been approached by you in the last three days, and who are all willing to testify to your interest in claiming Minerva's estate should she be convicted. Shall I do so, Mr. Standish? Do you deny making these inquiries?"

Standish's eyes shifted nervously away from his interrogator, and he licked his dry lips before answering. "No, I deny nothing. I did raise the question casually with a few of my close friends, yes, but it was simple curiosity, nothing more than that. Certainly there was no sinister hidden motive on my part. As you say, her estate borders my own. It would naturally be of interest to me to know what might happen to it if things go against Minerva in this trial. That's all there is to it."

"Yes, of great interest, indeed. Do you really expect this court to believe that there is nothing odd or suspicious in the fact that after having provided all the evidence that exists to accuse Minerva McGonagall of this crime, you then manage to profit handsomely from her conviction?" Disbelief was obvious in Dumbledore's scathing tone.

Standish shrugged. "I can't control what you might find suspicious, Dumbledore. You and Minerva would obviously see things differently than I might." The implication in his words was that he wasn't the only one with a possible a self-serving agenda.

The haughty man continued, "What happens to her estate is of interest to me. I certainly won't deny that, but I didn't create the evidence that accuses Minerva of this crime. All I did was find it, and quite accidentally at that. Surely you aren't implying that I shouldn't have turned it in to the Ministry once I'd found such a thing hidden away in her room? It was my duty to hand it over to the authorities, regardless of how I might feel about Minerva."

"Yes, it was indeed your duty to do so, Mr. Standish," agreed Dumbledore readily. "So I do find myself curious as to why you didn't do it?"

"I don't understand what you mean? I did turn in the pensieve, and the wand." Standish waved his hand emphatically towards the evidence table. "There they sit for everyone to see."

"Yes, you did turn them in, but not right away. In fact, you waited a fairly substantial length of time before doing your duty, didn't you, Mr. Standish?" The Headmaster's eyes glinted coldly behind his spectacles.

"Uh…well, yes, there was a slight delay, I suppose. I don't know that I'd call it substantial. I was shocked to find such a thing in my house. What I saw in that pensieve seemed totally unbelievable. I simply wanted to give Minerva a chance to explain first, that's all," he admitted reluctantly.

Dumbledore nodded. "Of course. A perfectly understandable reaction. You've known Minerva since you were children. You couldn't believe that she'd ever murder someone, no matter what that stone bowl showed you."

"Exactly." Standish grasped eagerly at the explanation handed to him. "It seemed so out of character for her, that I figured that there had to be a logical explanation for it. So I asked her first, and then when she apparently didn't have any explanation to give me, I felt I had no choice but to turn it all over to the authorities and let them sort it out."

"So you simply took the pensieve to Hogwarts, showed it to Minerva, and then when she said that she knew nothing about it, you turned it in?" asked Dumbledore.

"Well, not exactly." Standish hedged. "I didn't want anything to happen to the pensieve itself. They can be rather delicate, especially when filled with very old memories, so I made a copy of the memories it contained and took that to Minerva."

"I see. So you took this copy to Minerva, asked her about it and then turned the original in."

"Yes," Standish nodded emphatically.

"Immediately?" asked Dumbledore.

"Uh…"

"In fact, weren't you at Hogwarts for more than a week before you even brought the subject up with Minerva?"

Once more Standish shifted uneasily in his chair. "Well, it wasn't an easy subject to raise with anyone after all. So I took a little time approaching Minerva. I figured that since Grant had been dead for all these years, and no one even knew about it, that a few more days wouldn't matter much. There was a second reason that I was at Hogwarts as well. I'd been given a job to do by your Board of Governors, if you'll recall. I had an obligation to do that job, too." Standish's eyes gleamed, reminding Dumbledore that he still hadn't turned in his damaging or possibly helpful report.

Dumbledore's gaze turned cold. "So your contention is that you used your job to evaluate the school for the Board of Governors as a means of getting to Minerva so that you could ask her about the pensieve. It took you over a week to work up the courage to do so, and then when you did, Minerva denied all knowledge of the pensieve so you felt it was your duty to turn it in to the Ministry, which you immediately did. Is this correct, Mr. Standish?"

"Essentially, yes. I know that I probably shouldn't have even asked Minerva about the pensieve, but it simply seemed like the right thing to do." Standish stared levelly back.

"Yes, trying to establish the truth about that pensieve would be the right thing to do, but I don't believe that that was what you decided to do. In fact, I think that your version of events leaves out a few salient points. Isn't it true, Mr. Standish, that despite your claims of duty, once you had shown the memory record to Minerva, you offered to suppress it if she'd simply sign over her estate to you immediately? Then, when she didn't seem inclined to do so, you gave her several days to change her mind…or else?"

The murmurs from the watching crowd rose to a loud excited pitch, and the enchanted quills hovering in the press section all began to scratch furiously at their companion rolls of parchment.

"Certainly not! That's a vicious lie." The color in Standish's face rose alarmingly as did the intensity of his voice.

"Really? We've already established your interest in the fate of her estate. So it didn't seem that far-fetched to me. How are your finances at the moment, Mr. Standish?"

"No worse than those of many others." Standish looked wary again.

"You aren't in debt? You don't have people looking to you for money that was promised to them?"

When Standish hesitated instead of answering immediately, Dumbledore whirled around and paced back to the table where Minerva sat quietly watching. There he picked up a scroll of parchment. He returned to Standish's side and handed the scroll to him.

"This is a list of people who all say that you owe them money, Mr. Standish, along with the amounts that you owe. It adds up to a considerable sum. Do you deny these debts?"

Standish perused the list slowly. Relief flitted through his eyes as there was obviously no entry for the very worst of his creditors, and as he lifted his gaze to meet that of his accuser, he had an uneasy feeling that both of them realized that there was one very important name that had been omitted from the list.

"I deny nothing," Standish stated flatly. "I do owe money, and I will pay it off. I've had debts before; everyone does from time to time. That certainly doesn't mean that I would stoop to blackmail to attain the money I need, and if Minerva says differently, then she's the one who's lying. But then, she is in a rather difficult spot at the moment, isn't she?"

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back. "Yes, conveniently for you…she is."

Before Standish could react to that, he continued, "Let me ask you about the contents of that pensive."

Standish sat back and composed himself once more. "All right."

"When I viewed the contents of the pensieve, I noticed two things that seemed quite odd to me. I wonder if you noticed them as well."

A blank but polite look was his only response.

"Have you ever used a pensieve yourself, Mr. Standish? Or at least viewed the contents of one before? They aren't the most common of magical devices," asked Dumbledore.

"True, they aren't. But as it happens, I have used one myself," Standish admitted readily. "I actually learned a fair amount about pensieves in my youth. I trained for a time as an obliviator. An intensive study of memory is part of the training, naturally, as is the proper way to make use of a pensieve. That's how I knew how to go about making a copy of the contents of this one."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "Would you qualify yourself as an expert on the subject?"

"Not at all. Merely, an enlightened amateur." Standish returned the smile equally faintly.

"Then didn't it strike you as odd that this pensieve is entirely without sound? Any pensieve that I've ever used reproduces memories in their entirety, including a very exact duplication of all sounds incorporated in the memory."

A puzzled frown crossed Standish's brow, and he nodded in agreement. "Yes, I did notice that. However, the pensieve in question is rather old. Fifty years is a long time to hold a memory and keep it fresh. Most people don't store their memories in pensieves indefinitely, after all. I just assumed that the magical mechanism had failed somehow."

"I suppose that's possible. Have you ever known it to happen before?" asked Dumbledore.

"No, but then, I'm not an expert on pensieves. It didn't seem that important to me since the images that the pensieve contained remained quite clear and vivid."

"Ah, do they? You see that was the other odd thing I noticed. Have you ever seen anyone perform the killing curse, Mr. Standish?"

"Certainly not. It's an unforgivable curse." Standish did a very good job at looking both shocked and faintly insulted.

"Yes, it is, and for good reason. However, surely you know something about the spell. All school children are taught to recognize it. Although you didn't give it that name, from your description of what occurred in the pensieve, that is the spell that you are accusing Minerva McGonagall of having employed to kill Mr. Grant, are you not?"

"Well, yes. I suppose so," Standish admitted reluctantly.

"What color is the flash of magic that accompanies the Avada Kadavra?" Dumbledore stared hard at Standish.

Standish blinked and looked blank for a moment. "Uh…green…ish?"

"The killing curse produces a brilliant emerald green flash when it's cast. It's quite unmistakable and very vivid. No other curse produces a flash of light quite that exact color. Is that the color that Minerva's wand produced in the memories in the pensieve?"

"Uh…well, I'm not sure. I guess I didn't really notice. I think it was green." Standish's eyes flitted away from his questioner, and he began to nervously stroke his goatee with quivering fingers.

"Would you like to view it again, Mr. Standish? To refresh your memory?" A solicitous question.

Standish shook his head and sat straighter. "No. It was green. A green flash."

Dumbledore nodded in contemplation, and then he turned to the bench and addressed Madam Bones. "Madam Bones, you viewed the pensieve memories as well. Since we cannot show the contents to the audience, who are relying on us to enlighten them in this matter, I will ask you as well. Was the flash that was produced by Minerva's wand when Grant was attacked the brilliant emerald green of the Avada Kadavra?"

Amelia Bones frowned and looked speculatively down at Dumbledore. "As I recall, the flash was indeed green, but not the usual bright green that I'd expect. It was actually a rather washed out color, more a greenish blue than a true green."

"Yes," agreed Dumbledore. "That was my impression as well. The flash was a greenish blue. Not an emerald at all. How would you explain that?"

"I assumed that it had simply faded a bit with time," answered Bones.

"Did the other colors in the memories seem faded?" Dumbledore asked sharply.

Bones frowned once more. "No. Not really, but that still seemed the most logical explanation that I could come up with."

Dumbledore straightened up to his full impressive height and addressed the court in full. "Perhaps that is the explanation, but perhaps it is not. We don't seem to be able to be sure either way. So let me be clear about this. Here we find ourselves accusing Minerva McGonagall of the crime of murder, for which you have decided that the penalty shall be death, and to make the determination as to the veracity of this accusation, we are relying almost solely on a device whose reliability has been called into question not once but twice.

"The pensieve has no sound when it should, and yet no one has an adequate explanation as to why it doesn't. The flash of a well known spell is not the color it should be, yet once again, no one is concerned, nor has an adequate explanation for the discrepancy been put forth. The device is simply too old and has begun to fail. That seems to be what you're all saying, and I say that if indeed, this device no longer functions properly, then what business do we have letting what it contains determine whether or not a woman lives or dies?"

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**Next Chapter:** Dumbledore calls another witness…and Irma Pince makes a discovery.


	43. At Last

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Three: At Last**

Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the secluded storeroom full of books and watched the two people within as they patiently combed through the stacks of crumbling tomes that the room contained. He'd joined them in their searching last night, giving them all the meager details of the first day of the trial as the three of them looked through the books together. Neither of them had been particularly encouraged by what he'd had to say though, and the atmosphere in the room had remained as gloomy as its appearance.

Now as he watched his friends while they worked so hard to help Minerva, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of concern, both for the well being of the two in the room, who looked utterly exhausted, and for the success of their quest, which was looking more fruitless with each discarded book.

However, despite the dire way things looked at the moment, Minerva's life depended on what happened here in this room much more than it did on what happened in the courtroom, so it was important that none of them lose heart. Determinedly, Dumbledore stepped into the round, dusty chamber and addressed its busy occupants. "Good morning, Severus, Irma. Did either of you manage to get any sleep at all last night?"

Both Snape and Pince glanced up as he spoke to them, but only one of them bothered to favor him with a reply.

"Good morning, Headmaster," Pince stated with a weak smile. "I did get a few hours of sleep, but only because I was afraid that I was becoming so tired that I might miss something if I didn't. I'm not sure if Severus slept at all." She glanced uncertainly at her companion, who grimaced and raised his head reluctantly from the book he was almost finished with.

"I have no need of sleep at the moment. There'll be more than time enough for that once we've succeeded in finding the spell we're looking for," he stated flatly, obviously hoping not to be questioned further on this point. A hope that proved futile with Dumbledore's next words.

"Everyone needs sleep to function adequately, Severus. As Irma pointed out, it's easy to miss things when you're exhausted, and that wouldn't do Minerva any good at all."

"There are ways around the need for sleep, Albus. I will rest once the trial is over, and we've proved that Minerva is innocent." The glare that he shot across the room would have stopped the inquiries of most people, and his tone stated quite clearly that he wasn't about to argue about this any longer. Dumbledore took the hint. After all, there wasn't much time left, and if they didn't find what they were looking for soon, then they'd all have ample time to rest and regret it.

Irma Pince sighed and looked up at Dumbledore once more. "What's going to happen today at the trial?"

"I hope to speak to the Ministry Obliviators who checked Minerva for the scar that you saw in her mind, Severus. While none of us can prove that the memories that were removed were her memories of this incident, it's still suggestive that the scar exists at all, and bringing it up should encourage further doubts about the situation. After all, if someone obliviated memories from Minerva's mind, then they must have known what those memories contained and had a compelling reason to destroy them. Hiding the evidence of a murder would certainly qualify as such a reason," said Dumbledore sensibly.

Snape drew his eyebrows together in a tight dark scowl. "And who would have had a greater opportunity to do so than her "loving" husband, himself a trained Obliviator?" The scorn fairly dripped from his lips.

This bit of information shocked Irma Pince, who turned to Dumbledore in amazement. "Ian Standish is an Obliviator?"

"He trained as one in his youth, and was highly qualified in the field during the time of his marriage to Minerva," Dumbledore stated mildly.

"That…that…" words failed her as she struggled to express her disgust for the man they'd all come to despise. "That pusillanimous cretin!" she finally succeeded in exclaiming.

No argument was put forth from her companions.

"Indeed, " agreed Dumbledore with a faint twinkle in his eye. Then he sobered and continued discussing the coming day of testimony. "In addition to examining the Obliviator, I'll be putting on one or two character witnesses for Minerva today, but I don't expect that their testimony will take up that much time. The evidence against her was all presented and discussed yesterday, as was Standish's interests in Minerva's estate."

"Will Minerva testify?" asked Irma.

Dumbledore shook his head. "She didn't want to testify. She says that there's nothing that she can add to the proceedings since, without her memories, she has no knowledge of the incident in question. She couldn't answer any questions about anything that happened, and asking the questions would only allow Gallagher to go through all that damaging material again with no rebuttal from her."

"She could testify about Ian's attempt to blackmail her!" exclaimed Irma hotly.

"She could, but it would only be her word against his, nothing more."

Dumbledore sighed as Irma fell silent with a dissatisfied expression on her face. "I will attempt to stretch out the proceedings for as long as possible, but the trial is unlikely to go into a third day of testimony," he stated quietly.

With a look of fear in her eyes, Irma turned and looked at the mountain of books that they still had to go through, while Snape merely slammed shut the book he'd now finished with and got to his feet to place it with the rejects.

"Then it seems to me that the most helpful thing you could do at this point is to get out and let us keep working, Albus," he snarled abruptly.

Irma threw him a reproachful glance. One really shouldn't speak to the Headmaster that way, but she didn't dare to utter any protest as she looked at his stony countenance. Snape was a tense bundle of very raw nerves at this point, and the last thing she wanted to do was to say anything that would cause him to explode. They all knew what was at stake here, and time was running out. Even though he was ruder than he should have been, Snape was right. They needed to get back to work.

However, Dumbledore wasn't fazed in the slightest by the rudeness of his Potions master. In fact, he agreed with him and expected nothing else.

"You're right, Severus," he stated mildly. "It's time that I headed off to the Ministry. I…hope I'll see one or both of you there later today."

"As soon as we have anything worth showing to you, Albus, you'll be the first to know." Snape grabbed the next book in the pile that awaited him and buried his nose in it, not even glancing up to say goodbye. Pince and Dumbledore exchanged brief but encouraging smiles, and the Headmaster turned and left the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

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Dumbledore stood before the bench with the interest of everyone in the room focused tightly on him and called Arabella Figg to come forth and testify.

Immediately, Mrs. Figg rose from her place in the audience and began to push her way down through the rows of gawkers who were suddenly surprised to find themselves in actual contact with a real live witness. Everyone scrambled to get out of her way as quickly as possible, and the gaggle of humanity that crowded the room parted like a curtain, allowing the elderly woman to make a relatively dignified entrance down onto the main floor of the courtroom.

Minerva turned and watched her old friend make her way through the gaping throng, and was touched to see the effort that she'd made with her appearance. The ratty housecoat and tartan carpet slippers that made up her usual ensemble had been replaced today with a tasteful, if somewhat old-fashioned, robe of a conservative cut and a new looking pair of sensible tie oxfords which Arabella was making full use of if someone didn't pull their feet out of her way fast enough.

Once she'd made it down out of the visitor's tier, she paused and readjusted her garments, smiled encouragingly at Minerva, then raised her head confidently and crossed the room to the chair reserved for witnesses. Having already testified at one hearing, when she vouched for young Harry last year, she felt that she had some idea of what to expect this time around, and so was a bit more confident in her demeanor. She also had had a touch more warning this time than she'd had the last time she'd come to the Ministry to participate in a trial.

Taking her time, she settled herself in the waiting chair and smiled politely at Albus Dumbledore as he approached her.

Dumbledore nodded pleasantly. "Thank you for coming. Please, state your name for the court."

"My name is Arabella Doreen Figg," the witness stated in a clear, loud voice.

"Mrs. Figg, do you know the accused, Minerva McGonagall?" asked Dumbledore.

Mrs. Figg nodded vigorously, wanting to leave no doubt. "Yes, I do. I've known Minerva McGonagall since we were both girls, so as to say, pretty much most of her life and mine."

Dumbledore clasped his hands behind his back and strolled casually around the floor. "What kind of person would you say she is?"

"Minerva McGonagall is one of the finest, most decent, hard-working people I've ever known. Never raises her voice, 'cept when she has no choice, of course; she's kind and helpful, good to everyone. A real lady, and let me tell you, they're scarcer than hen's teeth around these parts." She directed a glare at the audience as if daring them to disagree. Of course, nobody did.

"So you must have been rather shocked to hear of these proceedings then." Dumbledore paused in his pacing and turned back to look at his witness.

"Shocked! I'll say I was shocked. You could've knocked me over with a feather. I've never met a finer woman. She'd never hurt a soul…what didn't deserve it." As Dumbledore winced slightly, Figg anxiously backpedaled. "You know, if she was attacked or something. After all, she ended up in St. Mungo's just last year for coming to the rescue of an innocent person who was being viciously attacked by hooligans who worked for this very Ministry. But casting spells in the defense of yourself or others is a far cry from murdering anyone."

Figg straightened up and bristled with indignation. "The very idea that Minerva'd murder a living soul is unthinkable, and the whole of the wizarding community should know that. After all," she pointed an accusing finger out at the enthralled audience. "How many of you were taught by this woman? When she was teaching you Transfiguration, she likely taught the lot of you right from wrong as well, which ought to have clued a few of you in that she knows the difference herself."

She nodded decisively and turned a disapproving glare on Gallagher as he sat quietly at the prosecution's table and made hurried notes on a piece of parchment. "You should all be ashamed of yourselves for even suggesting such a thing. Minerva McGonagall a murderess? Nonsense! The very idea is laughable."

Dumbledore smiled serenely at his witness and executed a short bow. "Thank you, Mrs. Figg."

"Just telling the truth," exclaimed the woman firmly.

Then, as Dumbledore turned and headed back towards the defense table, Mrs. Figg rose to her feet, but before she could move away from the witness chair, Minister Gallagher stood up and stopped her.

"I have a few questions before you go, Mrs. Figg." He smiled pleasantly, and with a slightly wary expression, the older woman sank back down into the chair and waited for him to begin.

Gallagher stepped forward and addressed the nervous woman politely. "You're a Squib, aren't you, Mrs. Figg?"

Mrs. Figg frowned and raised her head a notch. "Yes, I am, but I don't see what that's got to do with anything. Just because I can't cast fancy spells like you can don't mean that I can't tell the difference between a decent, upright, honorable person and a no-good phony," she exclaimed hotly as she glared askance at the acting Minister of Magic.

"I'm sure that's true," said Gallagher smoothly. "How did you and Professor McGonagall meet, anyway?"

"We're close to the same age, and we met when we were both children. My mother was a dressmaker. She used to make all of Minerva's mother's dresses…some of Minerva's, too," answered Mrs. Figg with a touch of defiance in her tone.

"So she was an employee of the McGonagalls?" Gallagher's eyes gleamed with interest.

"No. She owned her own shop, which Mrs. McGonagall used to patronize as she could recognize quality when she saw it, and my Mum was the best in the area at what she did. Minerva would come into the shop with her mother quite often, and the two of us would play together. We played games and talked about what it would be like when we'd both go off to Hogwarts, mostly." She smiled wistfully.

"I see. So she treated you as an equal then, did she?"

"Yes, she did, even though we weren't exactly on the same social footing, you might say, but that didn't matter to her. Minerva was always kind and thoughtful to everyone no matter who they were, or who their parents were. Quality always shows, that's what my old Mum always said, and Minerva was quality down to her fingertips. Still is!"

Mrs. Figg nodded emphatically and smiled across the room at her old friend, who smiled gratefully back.

Gallagher's lips tightened fractionally, and he stepped closer to the witness chair. "So it's your assertion that Minerva McGonagall's behavior towards you never took your divergent social positions into account? That she never treated you as less important even though by your own admission, you weren't on the same social strata?"

"That's right." Mrs. Figg's face took on a stubborn cast.

"Forgive me, Mrs. Figg, but I find that rather difficult to believe. It seems to me that the truth is that regardless of your childhood relationship with Minerva McGonagall as you both grew up, your stations in the wizarding world diverged rather markedly, and I cannot believe that that didn't make a difference in your relationship."

"Well…" Mrs. Figg began, but Gallagher didn't give her time to get any further.

"After all, you did not go to Hogwarts with Professor McGonagall, did you?" he asked accusingly.

"No, obviously, I didn't, but…"

"And as a result of that, the two of you didn't remain in close contact, did you?" Gallagher raised an eyebrow.

"Well, no, I suppose not," Mrs. Figg admitted. "But we got back into contact later, and got to know each other again, and it was as if no time had passed at all."

"But time had passed, hadn't it? How much time, Mrs. Figg? A year? Ten years? Thirty?"

"Quite a bit…twenty or so years, I guess." Mrs. Figg shifted uneasily in her chair.

"So the truth is that you don't have any first hand knowledge of what sort of person Minerva McGonagall was during her marriage to Ian Standish or of how she treated or thought about those who worked for her."

"People don't change their spots that easily," she asserted firmly, trying to regain the ground she could see she'd lost.

"In your opinion…but you don't know. While Minerva McGonagall was married to Ian Standish, you weren't invited to the manor for tea, now were you?"

Mrs. Figg frowned. "No, I wasn't, but that don't matter a whit." The determined woman leaned forward in her chair and shook a reproachful finger at the smug man facing her.

"I know what you're trying to get me to say here, Mr. Acting Minister of Magic Gallagher, and it won't work. I've been listening to you and your implications and your snide remarks, and all I can say is, you're wrong. Minerva McGonagall never treated me any differently because I was a Squib or because my mother made her mother's dresses. So if you're trying to imply that she didn't care about this Henry Grant fellow because he was a servant and was beneath her socially, it's a load of twaddle! Class and social position don't matter to Minerva, and they never have!"

At the defense table across the room, Minerva allowed herself a smile for the loyalty of her friend.

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As stray dust motes danced in the meager shafts of sunlight that found their way through the small dirt encrusted windows in the room at the base of the Green tower, Irma Pince suddenly sat bolt upright in her chair and made an odd sort of strangled yelp. Snape's head snapped up instantly, and he turned away from the book he'd been plowing relentlessly through to stare across the table at his companion. "Have you found it?" he snapped anxiously.

Raising hopeful eyes to his, she nodded haltingly. "I'm not sure, but I think so."

With shaking fingers, she turned the heavy, black bound book in her grasp and slid it across the table to Snape who grasped it eagerly, pulled it towards him, and began to read where she indicated. While he read the spell information that filled the brittle page, Irma watched him tensely, hardly daring to breathe. It certainly appeared to be the spell that they were seeking, but she wouldn't dare to let herself believe it until Snape agreed with her. He'd be a much better judge than she was. As she watched his sharp eyes skim quickly across the faded lines of print, she prayed fervently to herself that it was the right one, and that their search was finally over.

A warm wash of excitement and relief flooded through her when she saw a satisfied smile spread itself across Snape's tired face draining away some of the ingrained tension as he whispered softly, "Yes. Yes, this is the one. This is it. At last."

The rare smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared though as he raised his head and met her anxious gaze with glittering eyes. "There's only one way to be absolutely sure, though. We'll need to test it out."

A little thrill of fear coursed through Irma at his intense gaze. She knew what that meant. Bravely, she nodded. "All right, let's do it, but this should work with any spell, right?"

Not sure why she was asking, he frowned as he answered, "That's what the book says, and I have no reason to doubt it."

"Good," Irma exclaimed happily. "So let's use something a bit less dangerous than Avada Kadavra to test it with, all right?"

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**Next Chapter:** Dumbledore discovers that he has more evidence to present after all.


	44. A Timely Arrival

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Four: A Timely Arrival**

Albus Dumbledore paused in his pacing and turned his attention to the tall man who sat easily in the witness chair and watched the Headmaster with a confident gaze.

"So there's no doubt in your professional opinion, Mr. Carson, that there is a fairly substantial obliviation scar in Minerva McGonagall's mind?"

Carson nodded calmly. "None whatsoever."

"Only one scar?" asked Dumbledore.

"Yes, only one," responded Carson.

"Can you describe the scar?"

"Well, an obliviation scar presents itself to someone scanning the mind as a blank, dull spot where no brain activity exists. This particular scar is fairly large, and the edges are a bit ragged. This usually means that the person being obliviated fought against the procedure when it was performed. It isn't a pleasant procedure to have performed, after all," the man admitted honestly.

"Can memories that have been obliviated be recovered by any means?" The Headmaster cocked his head and gazed curiously at the Ministry Obliviator.

Carson crossed his legs and shook his head. "No. Any memories that existed in that section of the mind when the procedure was performed would have been permanently destroyed, if the procedure was performed correctly, that is. If you wish to merely mask the memories, there are other memory charms that can be used."

"How long have you been a Ministry Obliviator, Mr. Carson?" asked Dumbledore politely.

"I've been an obliviator for sixty-eight years," Carson stated proudly.

"Sixty-eight years. That is indeed a long time, Mr. Carson. So you would definitely qualify as an expert in this area, would you not?"

"I'd certainly like to think so," answered Carson.

"I'd tend to agree," said Dumbledore with a smile. "So, tell me, can you speculate as to the age of the scar in the defendant's mind?"

Carson stroked his chin thoughtfully and gazed up at Dumbledore with dark and sober eyes. "Ah, now that's a tricky question to answer. It isn't possible to determine the exact age of such scars as long as the person who has them is still alive, that is. Once we can physically examine the brain, we can be a bit more precise. Short of that possibility, I could give you an educated guess, based on my experience in the field, but that's all it would be…a guess."

"Well, we've established that you definitely qualify as an expert, Mr. Carson, so I would certainly accept your educated guess as to the age of Professor McGonagall's scar."

Carson looked pleased and nodded. "I would say, judging from its appearance, that the scar in the mind of the defendant is at least forty to fifty years old."

Dumbledore nodded soberly. "There's no chance that the scar was made much more recently than that, is there? Such as in the last few weeks or months?"

Carson glanced quickly at the prosecution table and then returned his eyes to Dumbledore. "No, none whatsoever. I can't tell you exactly how old the scar is, but I can definitely tell you that it wasn't made in the last five years. There's a reddish tinge to newly made scars; they have an angry quality to them that's totally missing from older scars. This is definitely an old scar."

"Thank you, Mr. Carson," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

Just then, as Dumbledore was headed back to his seat, the door at the back of the top audience tier opened and Irma Pince entered the room, squeezing herself determinedly through the crowd of people clustered near the doorway. As Irma paused to get her bearings, Severus Snape slipped into the room behind her, being much more careful not to be noticed.

Pince had a large black book clasped tightly to her chest, and she wore a smile on her face that would rival the sun for its brightness. Dumbledore's heart lifted to see it. As she caught his eye, the librarian immediately began to shove her way down through the crowd, obviously heading for the floor near the defendant's table where Minerva sat and watched, as her fate was determined. Snape, on the other hand, melted back into the crowd and made no attempt to move any closer to the floor of the crowded room. However, his sharp eyes sought out those of his master with a look of triumph in their depths, and one corner of his lips was curved ever so slightly upward.

As Pince finally succeeded in reaching the floor, she waved excitedly at Dumbledore and turned to smile down at Minerva who glanced upwards in surprise at her abrupt appearance. Immediately, Dumbledore turned back toward the bench without even waiting to speak to the excited Pince and addressed the woman who sat in the middle observing these occurrences with a curious eye.

"Madam Bones, may I request a short break to examine some new evidence?" Dumbledore asked politely.

Bones motioned for him to approach her as her companions on the bench looked down at Dumbledore with interest as well.

With a mild frown on her face, Madam Bones spoke softly. "What new evidence is this, Albus?"

Dumbledore smiled up at the three curious faces. "I'll need to consult with my colleague to be certain, of course, but she's been searching night and day for something that will shed new light on these proceedings. Since she's now here with a book in hand, I can only assume that she found what she's been searching for. If I'm right, this evidence will explain everything that we've seen in that pensieve, and prove that Minerva is innocent."

"Powerful evidence indeed," came a skeptical voice from over Dumbledore's shoulder.

He turned to see Acting Minister Gallagher standing next to him with a raised eyebrow and a down turned mouth.

"Yes. It will be," agreed Dumbledore calmly.

Gallagher frowned and addressed his remarks to those on the bench. "It's a bit late in the game to be allowing new evidence. I object to a break at this point. Mr. Carson is the last witness to be presented. All that awaits us now is the final summation. All relevant evidence has already been presented. This is likely some last minute trick designed to gain sympathy for the defendant since obviously my opponent hasn't been able to prove her innocent through a straight recitation of the facts."

Dumbledore frowned and opened his mouth to reply but was beaten to it by Interrogator Carstairs, who up to this point had remained completely silent. Looking down his impressive nose at Gallagher, he fastened his beady eyes on the Acting Minister of Magic and spoke in a firm and decisive tone of voice.

"This is not a "game", Mr. Gallagher, and I do not appreciate your referring to it as such. A woman's life is at stake here. Since you and your office pushed so hard for a reinstatement of the death penalty, and were successful in obtaining it, the outcome of this trial will be irreversible once sentence is carried out. That puts a greater responsibility upon us to be sure that every possible shred of evidence that could illuminate this case in any way gets heard by this court before judgment is passed. If Professor Dumbledore wishes a brief recess of these proceedings to examine new evidence that could be important to this case, then I see no reason not to grant his request."

He then turned and glanced at his colleagues. "Wouldn't you agree, Madam Bones, Undersecretary Blackstone?"

Both of the addressed indicated their agreement.

"Absolutely," stated Blackstone with a nod that set his enormous moustache to quivering.

Amelia Bones nodded briskly as well. "There's no reason not to take a short break and allow Professor Dumbledore to examine his new evidence. As Interrogator Carstairs says, we want to be sure that all relevant evidence gets heard." She placed a slight stress on the word relevant as she looked down at Dumbledore.

The elderly wizard smiled reassuringly. "If this evidence is the evidence I've been hoping to find, it will be most relevant, I assure you."

A faint smile flickered briefly before she resumed her businesslike expression. "Very well."

Dumbledore and Gallagher stepped back from the bench as Madam Bones grasped the glowing marble ball in her hand and rapped it firmly against its resting place. "The court will take a brief break to allow the examination of some new evidence. We will resume these proceedings in ten minutes." With those words, she brought the ball back down to rest in its dish with a sharp thump, got to her feet and headed for the door followed closely by her two colleagues.

The audience began to buzz with wild speculation as Gallagher and Percy left the room as well, following in the footsteps of the Wizengamot members. That only left the defense to pin their hopes of drama on and most faces immediately turned towards the table where the defendant sat with a slightly perplexed but faintly hopeful expression on her face.

Dumbledore crossed the room to the defense table and was met before he quite reached it by an eager Irma Pince, who immediately thrust the heavy black volume that she held into his hands as if she could hardly bear to keep it from him for another moment.

Doing her best to keep her voice low, which wasn't easy under the circumstances, Irma directed Dumbledore to the relevant pages and, once he'd found them, pointed out the passages with a trembling finger. "It's here on page 238, Albus. Right here. It explains everything, just as we hoped. Severus and I tested it out, and it worked exactly as it says," she exclaimed in breathless excitement.

Nodding his thanks, Dumbledore grasped the book in his hands and moved around the table away from the two women. There, he sat down in his seat to read through the material that the black bound tome contained. While he concentrated on his reading, Irma turned shining eyes on Minerva, who was obviously still very confused.

Turning away from the hunched figure of the reading Dumbledore, Minerva addressed her friend in a faintly hopeful and almost curt voice. "What is this book, Irma? What did you and Severus test out?"

Irma bent down and embraced her friend tightly and spoke reassuringly in her ear. "It's the answer, Minerva. It's a spell that will prove that you didn't murder Henry Grant or anyone else. Severus and I have been looking for it for days. I was beginning to be afraid that we wouldn't ever find it, but we did. We did!"

Before Minerva could ask any more questions, Albus looked up from the book, beckoning Irma closer. Irma gave her friend's shoulder a squeeze and then moved between the two of them and focused her attention on Dumbledore.

"Yes, Headmaster?" She bent down and pitched her voice low so that none in the watching audience could hear their conversation.

"You said that you and Severus tested this out, may I ask what spells you used?" asked Dumbledore equally quietly.

She nodded. "I attempted to perform a shrinking spell on a chair in the tower room. It's a spell that I do all the time when I'm shifting things around in the library so I'm very familiar with it. Severus used the substitution spell on me and successfully substituted an engorgement charm instead. The chair doubled in size when it should have shrunk to doll size."

"Excellent. And the flash that the spell produced…was it the proper bluish green color?"

"Well, I've never seen either the copy or the pensieve that contains these memories, so I couldn't compare, naturally. However, the flash that I saw was definitely a bluish green color, and Severus was certain that it was identical to what he'd seen in the pensieve copy." Irma smiled.

Dumbledore reached out and patted Irma's hand. "Thank you, Irma. This should do the trick. I can't introduce this spell in public court, though. It's far too dangerous to be used by and reported on to the general public. I'll have to ask Madam Bones if I can't demonstrate it to the court in private chambers. Would you be willing to assist me?"

"Absolutely," asserted Irma fervently.

"Good, now I have another request to make of you as well. I can't go into details as to why it's important, but it is. Do you trust me?" He stared earnestly into her curious eyes.

"Of course I trust you. I'll do anything you ask," she asserted firmly.

Dumbledore gave her a pleased smile. "When they ask how you happened to find this spell, please don't make any mention of Severus. It would be better for all concerned if no one knew of his involvement in the search for this spell. Would you do this for me? I apologize for not being able to explain further."

Her confusion shown on her face as she stared at him. She certainly couldn't think of any reason why Severus shouldn't be given the credit he deserved for suggesting that they should look for this spell, but if the Headmaster didn't want him mentioned, then he must have a good reason for it. It wasn't as if she hadn't been accepting a lot on faith lately. What was one more thing? She did trust Dumbledore, after all, more than anyone else she knew. "All right. I won't mention Severus at all," she promised solemnly.

"Thank you." Dumbledore smiled encouragingly at her and then directed his smile over at Minerva, who was still looking confused and was trying her best not to be too impatient with her friends who weren't explaining themselves nearly fast enough to suit her. It was her life that hung in the balance here, after all, so it only seemed fair that she be kept informed about the important developments in the case.

Minerva bent over and frowned at Dumbledore. "Are you going to explain this to me, Albus? What is this spell that the two of you are talking about and how can it prove my innocence?"

Before Dumbledore could answer though, the door that led to the waiting rooms where the Wizengamot had gone opened once more and the triumvirate of interrogators filed back into the room and headed for their places on the bench.

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As the Wizengamot members filed slowly out of the chamber, Snape stood at the back of the room and tried to blend unnoticed into the crowd. He pulled his cloak tightly around his slender body and tried his best not to touch any of his fellow gawkers, but it was truly a lost cause as there were simply too many of them to avoid. The seething mass of curious people who filled the room to overflowing pushed themselves against him in their eagerness to get a better look at the drama that was unfolding on the floor below. Irma's entrance had been unexpected, and there was now a buzz of excited speculation echoing through the entire chamber as everyone questioned each other endlessly as to what it could possibly mean.

Fortunately, the fact that he'd entered the room on her heels seemed to have escaped their notice, so he was able to avoid becoming the focus of any unwanted attention himself. The last thing he needed at the moment was to have his presence here be remarked upon by anyone. His plans required anonymity and stealth. To distract himself from his untenable position, jammed into a corner by the crowd, he focused his eyes on the back of Minerva's dark head and watched with a faint stab of envy as Irma Pince got to do what he so longed to do himself and embraced her tightly, offering encouragement.

Once Pince had handed the ancient black spellbook to the Headmaster, he moved aside and quickly read through the information it contained. Snape knew that it wouldn't take long. The spell wasn't really a complicated one. In fact, it was actually quite elegant in its simplicity. Under other circumstances, he'd have admired it greatly and been quite intrigued by the uses that could be found for such a spell, but the use it had already been put to had caused great anger to lodge itself in the depths of his heart. And all he wanted at the moment was to punish the one who'd used it in such a manner.

Scanning the crowd with narrowed eyes, Snape finally located the person he sought. Ian Standish sat near the front of the room directly behind the table that normally housed the Acting Minister of Magic and his toadying Weasley scribe. Just like everyone else in the room, Standish's eyes were currently focused on the defense table, watching Minerva be embraced by her friend and Dumbledore examine this mysterious black book.

Snape had a feeling that this book wasn't as much of a mystery to Standish as it was to most everyone else in the room though. The man's face had gone rather pale as Irma had handed the book to Dumbledore, and now, as the book was being so carefully examined, Standish was squirming uncomfortably in his seat. Even if he didn't recognize the book itself, who knows where his own knowledge of this spell had come from after all, he had to realize what such an old spellbook could mean. If he'd done what they were all so sure that he had, then right about now, he should be getting very, very nervous.

A predatory smile spread itself across Snape's features as he noticed beads of sweat appearing on the forehead of his enemy, who'd pulled an expensive silk handkerchief from a pocket and had begun to mop his face with it. Yes, suddenly it appeared that the noose that Standish had been anticipating being drawn tightly around Minerva's slender neck was beginning to wrap itself around his own, and Snape was eagerly anticipating being the one to spring the trap beneath his feet.

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As everyone settled back into their places, and Madam Bones called the court into session again, Dumbledore rose from his seat and asked to approach the bench for another private conference. Naturally, he was given permission, and a somewhat grim looking Minister Gallagher joined him as he addressed the three interrogators once more.

Handing the ancient tome up to Madam Bones, Dumbledore directed her to the proper page and then addressed them all in low tones.

"This book contains a spell that can explain every question that I've brought up regarding the memories that we've all seen in the pensieve that's been entered into evidence against Minerva McGonagall. I intend to enter the book and the information that it contains into evidence; however, due to the sensitive nature of the spell that we'll be discussing, I would like to do this in private chambers instead of open court."

"What?" exclaimed Gallagher in amazement. "You can't be serious, Dumbledore. The people of this community have the right to hear and examine all the evidence that's to be presented for and against this murderess. If we traipse off and discuss this behind closed doors, we're only opening ourselves up to the charge of making last minute secret deals. My predecessor excelled at backroom deals and under the table maneuvering, and I want to be sure that the people of this community realize that dealings such as those won't be tolerated by my administration."

"You'll feel differently once you realize what information that book contains, Mr. Gallagher," said Dumbledore calmly.

As Gallagher shook his head and opened his mouth to continue the argument, Amelia Bones closed the book with a snap and gazed down through her monocle at them both.

"Professor Dumbledore is correct, Minister. This isn't the sort of information that should be exposed to the general public. It could cause many problems that I'm sure that you and your administration would be happy to avoid. We'll adjourn to the private chambers behind this room to go over this evidence in detail."

"Oh, Madam Bones…" Gallagher began.

Bones raised a hand and silenced him. "No, Minister. My ruling is final."

Dumbledore spoke up once more. "I'd like to have the woman who found the spell testify about it as well, if I may." He indicated the avidly watching Irma Pince with a wave of his hand.

Bones nodded decisively. "Very well."

"And shall the defendant come as well?" asked Dumbledore.

Bones stared across the room at Minerva for a long moment and then shook her head. "I don't want to dismiss the court completely at this point. The defendant can remain where she is for now. Once we decide what to do about this new evidence, we will return and make any rulings that are required in front of open court."

Then she asked both Dumbledore and Gallagher to step back from the bench so she could address the entire room.

"At this time, the court will adjourn to private chambers to discuss some new evidence that is currently being presented. Court will remain in session while we are out of the main chamber. Please, everyone act accordingly. Thank you for your patience."

After delivering this statement, Madam Bones got to her feet, cradling the book in her arms, and she and her fellow interrogators stepped down from the bench and filed through an unobtrusive doorway behind it into a small private chamber. Throwing a disgruntled glare at Dumbledore, Gallagher motioned impatiently for Percy to gather up his things and follow him, then without waiting for the frantically scrambling young man to do so, he stomped off into the anteroom after the Wizengamot members.

As a chorus of excited voices exclaimed over these unexpected developments, Dumbledore walked back to the defense table.

"Albus, what is going on? Why won't you explain this to me?" exclaimed Minerva in a highly aggrieved tone of voice.

He took her hand in his and smiled down at her. "Amelia wants you to remain here for the moment, Minerva. You'll have to remain patient for just a little while longer, but I assure you that things will work out all right now. This evidence will prove your innocence. Can you trust me for a little longer?"

Minerva frowned and pulled her hand from his. "Oh, of course, I trust you. I just don't enjoy being kept in the dark like this."

"It won't be for much longer, I promise," he said warmly. Then he straightened up and addressed Irma Pince who was still hovering nearby. "I'll need you to give your testimony inside, Irma."

She nodded and stepped forward to join him. "I'm ready," she assured him eagerly.

Then with final warm and reassuring smiles for the still anxious Minerva, the two of them crossed the courtroom and entered the small private antechamber closing the door behind them.


	45. Revelations

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Five: Revelations**

Minerva sat at the table and watched as Albus ushered Irma through the small door in the back wall of the room and closed it behind them. The courtroom erupted in noisy speculation as soon as most of the principals in this little drama disappeared from view. She, however, had no one to speculate with. It certainly didn't seem fair that she should be excluded from whatever was taking place behind that door, but clearly there wasn't anything that she could do to change things.

What was in that black book anyway? Irma said it was a spell that she and Severus had spent days searching for. If that was true, why hadn't any of them told her about it? She'd talked recently with both Albus and Severus, and neither of them had mentioned a word of this.

It was her life that was at stake here. Didn't they understand how important it was for her to know what was being done to protect it? Ever since Ian had shown up on her doorstep with his nasty little surprise, her entire life had been yanked out of her control and tossed to the fates, and she hated it.

With a frown creasing her brow, she rubbed a thoughtful hand across her face and rested her chin in her palm as a different idea occurred to her. Perhaps that was what was concerning them. Maybe they'd been afraid to tell her what they were looking for just in case they hadn't been able to find it in time. That made sense. They wouldn't have wanted to raise her hopes only to have to dash them with their failure to come through with the spell.

What sort of a spell was it anyway? From the small amount that she'd been able to gather from listening to bits and pieces of Irma's conversation with Albus, it sounded as if the spell allowed you to somehow alter the spells that someone cast with a wand, though that sounded rather farfetched, and it produced a bluish green flash.

As memory jabbed at her, she straightened up abruptly. The flash that her wand had emitted in the pensieve memories had been bluish green, but it shouldn't have been if she'd cast Avada Kadavra. The killing curse always produced a vivid emerald green flash. Even though she'd never seen the curse actually used, she knew that much. Why hadn't she thought of that before? Could this spell have somehow caused her to cast the killing curse accidentally? Was such a thing even possible?

Full of frustration, she threw herself back in her chair restlessly and tightened the fist that lay in her lap. Damn it! She wanted some answers, and she wanted them now. She certainly deserved some if anyone did. Where was Severus? Irma had said that they'd both been searching for this spell, and that she and Severus had tested it out together. So he must know about it being found. Had he come with Irma to the courtroom? Obviously, he couldn't be seen handing evidence to Albus that would help with her trial, but that didn't mean that he couldn't be lurking back there amongst the mob of onlookers.

Minerva turned in her seat and scanned the faces of the increasingly noisy crowd for some sign that Severus was in the room, but searching through the waving mass of faces made her dizzy. Lightbulbs exploded in her eyes and dazzled them into blindness, forcing her to turn back without finding the face she sought. As she returned her eyes to the front of the room, she did happen to notice the face of her ex-husband as he sat a few feet away from her and stared off into space with a grim, self-absorbed expression. He looked rather pale and decidedly unhappy. If Irma's evidence was making Ian nervous then that could only be good for her she decided, so with a mild sigh of impatience, Minerva settled herself down to wait for Albus and the others to return.

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Inside the private meeting room, the Tribunal had taken seats behind the only table that the room contained. Percy Weasley set himself up at a small desk in a corner and watched the group expectantly, while everyone else clustered in front of the Wizengamot members.

Madam Bones, having already read the information in the black book, passed it on to Athelbert Carstairs, who perched a pair of gold pince nez on his prominent nose and began to read. Too impatient to wait his turn, Jeriah Blackstone rose from his seat and peered down at the pages over Carstairs' shoulder.

Gallagher turned rather abruptly to Dumbledore. "Well, we're in private now. Can you explain what this evidence is?"

"Don't you want to read it for yourself, Minister?"

"Oh, I'll want to read it myself, definitely, but that doesn't mean you can't explain it briefly first. What sort of book is that anyway? It looks very old. And why is this evidence so dangerous?"

Dumbledore looked at Irma Pince, who took that as her cue to answer.

"It is a very old book, Minister, several hundred years, at least. It's a dark book of spells of deception. The spell that we're concerned with here allows someone to twist the castings of another, to substitute an entirely different spell for the one that a person intended to use."

Gallagher's eyebrows rose, and he gestured casually towards his court scribe, who sat up straighter as he perceived his being the focus of conversation. "Do you mean that if I took out my wand and cast a spell on Weasley there, that you could somehow change the spell I cast using this spell?"

Pince nodded. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

"Preposterous! Such a thing isn't possible," asserted Gallagher testily.

"Oh, but it is, Minister, I assure you," added Dumbledore.

Gallagher frowned once more and turned to Pince again. "How did you find this spell?"

Pince exchanged glances with Dumbledore. She knew that he wanted Severus' name kept out of things, though she certainly didn't understand why, so that meant that she'd have to fudge the truth a bit. Not that she couldn't do that very well if she chose, of course, though telling the truth was always her preferred course of action. You run into so much less trouble that way.

Crossing her fingers behind her back, Irma looked Gallagher in the eye and answered his question. "I remembered running across it years ago, when I was doing some research of one sort or another. When I heard about what had happened to Minerva, the memory returned to me, and I went searching for the spell that I remembered, just in case it might have been used here. I found it in this book."

"You found this book at Hogwarts?" The Minister looked outraged. "What would such a book be doing at a school where the Dark Magic that it contains could fall into the hands of impressionable youngsters?"

Without waiting for her answer, he turned and focused his ire on Dumbledore instead. "I had thought that you'd done a creditable job overall of safeguarding the youth of our community, Dumbledore. Now I find myself wondering if that's true."

"The book wasn't in the regular collection, Minister, nor was it in the restricted section of the library. No student could access this book at all. Hogwarts is a very old castle, and it contains many things that need to be kept safe. This book was found amongst a collection that is kept well guarded from both the students and the general populace."

"My word, how fascinating," exclaimed Undersecretary Blackstone as he straightened up after having finished reading the information in the book.

His companion nodded his agreement. "Indeed, fascinating and chilling, at the same time. Didn't you think so, Madam Bones?" Carstairs turned and addressed his superior as he removed his glasses from his nose and buffed them on his robes before sliding them into a pocket.

Bones nodded. "Yes, the information in this book is very disturbing. That is, if the spell works as it says it does."

"Oh, it does," injected Pince eagerly. "I tested it out before I came here. It worked perfectly."

Dumbledore stepped closer to the table and addressed the triumvirate directly. "The spell in that book explains everything about this case. One question that I've continued to raise only to have it continually dismissed as unimportant, is why is the pensieve of memories silent. No pensieve that I've ever come across didn't include the sounds of the memories as well as the pictures. I'd imagine that's true for all of you, as well."

He raised an inquiring eyebrow and scanned their faces as everyone nodded thoughtfully, even Gallagher, though he obviously did so with some reluctance.

"This pensieve is silent, though. It had to be, in order to hide the fact that Minerva McGonagall never spoke the words necessary to cast the killing curse," stated Dumbledore emphatically.

"But it's not possible to remove the sound from a pensieve on purpose. A malfunction, perhaps…but..." Gallagher sputtered to a stop at the steely look that his opponent gave him.

"Just because we aren't aware of any method that can be used to remove the sound from a pensieve, doesn't mean there isn't one. It's not something that very many people have ever had occasion to try and do. But I believe that someone found a way to do it, because it suited their purpose to do so. The same person who removed the sound from the pensieve also cast this substitution spell on Minerva McGonagall in the first place, and probably obliviated her remaining memories, as well. If murder was done here, then it is this unknown person who should be held responsible for it, not Professor McGonagall."

"Well, we don't know that this spell was used," Gallagher exclaimed.

"You will admit, will you not, Minister, that the casting of Avada Kadavra gives off a bright emerald green flash, and the flash seen in the pensieve is a washed out bluish green? A very different color," inquired Dumbledore.

"Yes, but the fact that the flash seen in the memories isn't all that bright anymore could easily be attributed to the fact that this pensieve is defective in some way, its lack of sound could certainly indicate that, and the colors of the memories have faded after all this time. It's lain hidden for almost fifty years, after all."

"Very true. However, none of the other colors in the memories have faded at all. When I entered the pensieve, I was struck by how fresh and immediate it all looked. I had no difficulty believing that I was really there, back in the past, in that stable…except that the experience was totally silent."

Before, Gallagher could continue with the argument, Madam Bones brought her closed fist down on the table with a thump. "Gentlemen. There's no point in covering this ground again. We can settle this quite easily with a demonstration of this spell. If the spell does indeed produce the exact flash that's seen in the pensieve, then we will need to begin a reassessment of the evidence that's been presented."

Gallagher stepped up to the table and held out his hand. "If you have all had a chance to examine this spellbook by now, perhaps I could have my turn to read what it contains?"

Bones picked up the book and held it out to him. "Certainly, Minister. Page 238."

Gallagher took the book with a short nod of thanks and turned to the page in question to begin to read.

While he did that, Bones turned to Irma Pince. "Since you've tried the spell out once, Madam Pince, would you be willing to demonstrate it once again so that we may view its being cast?"

Pince nodded eagerly. "Oh, yes, Madam Interrogator. I'd be happy to demonstrate it. It will require two people, though. One to cast the substitution spell and one to cast a spell that will be interfered with."

Madam Bones smiled and looked up at Dumbledore inquiringly. "Well, Albus, I assume that you're prepared to help her provide a demonstration?"

With a pleasant nod, Dumbledore answered. "Yes, I'm quite willing to assist Madam Pince in demonstrating the spell."

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Outside in the larger courtroom, the crowd was beginning to become rather restive. The members of the press were talking to each other, trying to be sure that none of their fellows knew more about this surprising development and unexpected delay than they did. While the majority of the crowd were openly relishing the suspense and were flinging more and more outrageous theories around as they tried to figure out what it all might mean.

Ian Standish was squirming uneasily in his seat and casting furtive glances at Minerva as she sat at the defense table and looked thoughtful. At first, she'd seemed a bit disgruntled and impatient about whatever these new secret developments were, but now she was merely sitting in her seat quite calmly, seemingly resigned to waiting for everyone else to return.

Everything had been going so smoothly up until now. All the evidence had been presented, and though that fool Dumbledore had managed to cast a few questions out for the court to consider, he hadn't managed to actually refute anything that had been held up against her. There'd been no doubt in his mind that by the end of the day, Minerva would have been condemned to death for the murder of Henry Grant, and, as much as that outcome would have pained him, it was the only one that would save him from certain ruin. And if a choice between her life and his had to be made, then clearly, there was no choice at all.

Yet, all of a sudden, nothing seemed quite so certain anymore. What was in that old book that Pince had come running in to give to Dumbledore, anyway? Surely they couldn't have found that old Dark Arts spell? How many books would have it in it anyway? He'd certainly never found it anywhere other than that one old spellbook. Come to think of it, the book he'd found it in had looked a lot like the one that Pince had given to Dumbledore.

Standish frowned and bit the inside of his lip in concern. He'd run across that spell when he was barely out of school, while poking around in his grandfather's private library while no one else was home. His grandfather had never allowed anyone to touch his personal belongings, especial not books, but then, he never knew that Ian had found the hidden catch that opened the door to his private library either, now had he?

The book that had contained the spell clearly hadn't been touched in decades. He'd had to be extra careful to replace the dust when he was through examining it. It had been worth the trouble he'd gone to, though. It was such a useful spell to know. In fact, he couldn't imagine why more people didn't know about it, but no one ever seemed to, and keeping it secret had seemed like a very good idea to him. It had certainly come in handy over the years. More than one of his enemies had mysteriously succumbed to an apparently misfiring wand at an unfortunate moment.

The set up with Grant had been ideal. When that fool had refused to go along with doctoring the horses with special potions before a Muggle horse race, and then tried to blackmail him over it, well, he'd signed his own death certificate. What else had the idiot expected? The man had been quite cagey though and very careful to watch his back once he'd begun to demand money. It had taken awhile to figure out just how to handle him, but handle him he had.

The over-confident buffoon never expected the blow to come from Minerva. Not that she'd have done it willingly, but she'd been so easy to manipulate. She'd been quite willing to go down to the stables and keep Grant there while he supposedly summoned the authorities when he'd told her that Grant had stolen money from them and was planning to flee. How was she to know that the "stolen money" was what he'd already grudgingly passed to Grant to keep his mouth shut until he could shut him up for good?

The spell had worked perfectly. She'd been horrified by what had happened, naturally, and it had been so easy to play on her fears about what might happen to her if she was pregnant and was sent off to prison for murder. She'd been so pathetically eager to have a family. She'd have done anything to safeguard her child. Including disposing of Grant's body. Of course, she hadn't been pregnant at the time, but neither of them knew that for sure when they'd spoken of the possibility. She could have been. He'd certainly done his best to keep her that way…for all the good it had done him in the long run.

Standish scowled and crossed his arms as he remembered all those failed pregnancies. If only one of them had resulted in a living child…male or female, then none of this would have been necessary. He'd still have both Minerva and her estate, but there was little profit in moaning about all that now.

Of course, once the shock had worn off, Minerva had wanted to confess. She'd had such awful nightmares that it had been easy to persuade her to make use of the pensieve, but once she became determined to tell the authorities what had happened, he'd had no choice but to obliviate her. Then he'd just put the pensieve and her wand away for safe keeping, never imagining at that point how useful they'd become one day. But they'd come in handier than he'd have ever dreamed. And it had all been working out so well. Until now…

Slowly, he turned to look over at Minerva once more. If they'd actually come across that spell… If they'd figured it out… What the hell would he do?

Relax! He told himself firmly. How likely was it that they'd come across exactly that same little known spell, and even if they did, they might be able to get Minerva off, but no matter what they might suspect, they couldn't prove anything against him. He'd still be in the clear, and if he was, then he'd just have to come up with something else, and if he couldn't, his escape to someplace safe was already arranged. So there was no need to panic. No need at all. But nevertheless, he withdrew his handkerchief once again, and casually mopped his brow. It was so warm with all these people crowded in like this. You'd think they'd have ventilated the room more efficiently.

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With a little set up, they were now ready to test the substitution spell. Percy Weasley had sacrificed his chair to the effort and now stood next to his little desk hunched over to continue with his note taking, while everyone else's eyes were fastened on Dumbledore and Irma Pince.

"First, I'm going to have Irma cast an enlarging spell on this chair, to prove without a doubt that she can do it, and so you'll hear what she'll say and see the flash that her wand will produce, and can compare it to the next time, when I will intercept the spell and change it into something else." Dumbledore explained and then nodded to Irma.

She smiled back at him and took a deep breath. Then she pointed her wand at the chair and stated loudly, "Engorgio." Immediately, the chair grew to twice its size.

Everyone nodded. No surprises there.

Irma then cast a shrinking spell and returned the small wooden chair to its proper size so that they could get on with their experiment.

Dumbledore cast his eyes around the room. "Are we ready to give this a try?" he asked.

Gallagher crossed his arms and frowned. "Yes, yes. Just get on with it."

"Very well. Any time you're ready, Irma." Dumbledore smiled at his librarian, who smiled back and held her wand out once more.

"All right. Here I go…Engorgio!" she stated once more just as easily and firmly as she had the time before. The results were rather more spectacular this time.

All the watchers saw her aim at the chair and say her spell, they could see Dumbledore aim his wand at her simultaneously, but he spoke too low for any of them to be certain of what he said. The flash that sprang from Irma's wand as she cast the spell this time was a definite bluish green, very different than the last time, and the chair that she pointed at, instead of growing larger, burst into flames.

Everyone in the room, who wasn't already standing, jumped to their feet in alarm as the flames exploded upwards. Madam Bones pulled her wand out of her pocket and extinguished the fire immediately before turning to Dumbledore with a frown on her face that didn't completely hide the twinkle in her eye.

"That was a bit more dramatic than necessary, Albus. The shrinking spell that we'd discussed would have been quite adequate," she said sternly.

He smiled. "It was an impulse. I apologize, but now we know that the substitution spell will work even with fairly volatile spells."

"Yes," she muttered flatly. "We certainly do."

"Well, is that enough of a demonstration?" asked Dumbledore politely. "Surely now you can see how this crime was committed by someone other than Minerva. This spell shows exactly how everything was done. It explains the flash. It explains why Minerva looked so shocked to find Henry Grant dead at her feet when she apparently cast a spell that should have had quite a different effect. A stunning spell, perhaps. It also explains why the pensieve had to be silenced and Minerva obliviated. All of which suggests that someone other than Minerva McGonagall was guilty of this crime. Unless there are other objections, I would like to move that all charges against Minerva be dismissed."

"Absolutely not!" exclaimed Gallagher.

As everyone turned and stared at him, he directed his plea towards Madam Bones. "Yes, I will admit that this evidence is impressive. This spell could definitely have been used just as it has been demonstrated, but there's no real proof that it was. Simply because one set of circumstances appears to explain everything that happened, doesn't mean that an entirely different explanation can't be found, and then we're left with the chore of determining which set of answers is the right one. Is Minerva McGonagall the victim of a hidden spellcaster, or is she a willful murderess, whose incriminating memories happen to reside in a deteriorating pensieve. Either explanation seems plausible to me. What if we acquit her only to discover some proof at a later date that this spell was never used at all?"

"But with this large a doubt, Minister, surely you aren't suggesting that we condemn this woman to death?" exclaimed Interrogator Carstairs.

Gallagher had the grace to look uncertain. He didn't want to end up on the bad side of such important members of the Wizengemot. That would do neither his case nor his career any good whatsoever.

As they all jumped in and began to talk at once, Dumbledore held up his hand and pleaded for silence. Once he had their attention again, he said, "There's a very simple way to be certain if this spell was used or not. The book tells you how. When it's describing the effects of the spell, it mentions a resonance test that can be performed on any wand to tell if the spell was used on it."

Gallagher grabbed the book and paged back through it. "Resonance test?"

"Yes. I noticed when examining the spells in Minerva's wand by means of the Priori Incantatem that the Avada Kadavra spell produced an image that wasn't as clear as the other spells," Dumbledore said.

Bones nodded thoughtfully. "I noticed that, too." Carstairs nodded as well, while Blackstone merely looked interested.

"Apparently the substitution of one spell for another isn't perfect, and it sets up a feedback resonance in the wand. It's subtle, but it can be measured. The book tells you how to test a wand and see if the spell was used on it. Simply test Minerva's wand and see. If she wouldn't mind leaving it with you, you could test Madam Pince's wand, as well. You know that the spell was used on her wand. This would give you one more sampling…just to be absolutely certain."

Gallagher closed the book and looked up to see the others staring at him.

"Well, Minister? Do we test the wand?" asked Bones.

Gallagher nodded. "Yes, I think we should."

"And will you accept a positive test as proof of Minerva McGonagall's innocence?" asked Dumbledore.

Reluctantly, Gallagher nodded. "If the test shows that the killing curse cast by McGonagall's wand was affected by this substitution spell then I will withdraw the charges."

Irma smiled with relief and immediately handed her wand to Madam Bones. "Then here's my wand to compare it with. I know that in this way, they'll be absolutely identical."


	46. As The Worm Turns

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Six: As the Worm Turns**

All the people sitting in the main courtroom awaiting further developments straightened up and stared towards the front of the room as the door behind the bench opened, and those who'd disappeared within to deliberate returned to the main room once more. Gallagher and Weasley headed for their previous places as the three interrogators retook their seats on the bench, while Dumbledore and Irma Pince crossed to the table where Minerva waited impatiently for them. The fact that they both wore smiles on their faces was extremely heartening to her, but she still wanted to know exactly what had happened behind that closed door. Dumbledore took his former seat beside her and Irma went and stood nearby, watching with a happy gleam in her eyes.

The hum of speculation that swelled in the air died away as Madam Bones once more rapped her glowing marble ball sharply against its dish. Minerva, who'd leaned over to demand answers from her colleagues, sat back again discontentedly at the sound and resigned herself to having to wait a little bit longer to learn what she so desperately needed to know.

Madam Bones looked out over the mass of attentive faces and addressed the assembly in a firm voice.

"The evidence that Professor Dumbledore presented to the court is very compelling. Unfortunately, it would be inadvisable to expose it in open court at this time. Even after viewing this new evidence, there are still one or two points that the Tribunal needs to discuss informally." At this point in her speech, her eyes drifted across the courtroom to alight on the watching face of Ian Standish. His countenance went rather pale as she continued to speak while staring directly at him with thoughtfully narrowed eyes and slightly lowered brows.

"However, there's no need to hold the court open, while we further assess this evidence privately. Therefore, I am dismissing court for today. We will be back in session tomorrow at nine o'clock in the morning. At that time, closing remarks will be held, and a verdict in this case will be rendered. Court is dismissed." With that, she brought the marble down with a crash. Then she directed an encouraging smile at Minerva to the accompaniment of much speculation from the onlookers, got to her feet and, followed by her colleagues, left the room.

As the Tribunal made a stately exit, everyone stood up and respectfully watched them leave followed quickly by the Acting Minister of Magic and his clerk. Once the door had closed behind them all, two guards stepped forward to escort Minerva back to her cell. Before they could seize her arm and take her away, she turned quickly to Dumbledore and said, "Albus, what happened? I deserve to know. Amelia actually smiled at me. She's barely looked in my direction during the entire trial."

Dumbledore smiled and reached out to clasp her hand encouragingly. "You should take that as a good sign, Minerva. I'll be along shortly to explain everything, but I need to speak to Irma for a moment first. You won't have long to wait. This nightmare is almost over. Everything will be fine, I promise."

Her face lightened at the absolute certainty in his tone. "Really?" she whispered softly. Hardly daring to believe what he seemed to be telling her.

He nodded and smiled sincerely. "Yes, really."

At that point, Irma, who'd been hovering close by Dumbledore's elbow, stepped up and gave Minerva a big hug. "Everything's going to be fine, Minerva. We've proved you innocent. All that's left is a couple of little tests. Once those are done, the charges will be dropped. Mr. Gallagher promised."

Minerva's eyes began to sting with suppressed tears, but before she could ask any more questions, the guards interrupted, though a bit more gently than they had in the past.

"We need to take you back to your cell now, Ma'am," said the taller of the two.

Minerva glanced up at them and nodded. "All right." Then she turned back to Dumbledore as one of them took her arm and began to lead her out of the room. "Please, don't be long, Albus."

The old wizard smiled after her. "I won't. I promise."

As the door closed behind Minerva and the guards, Dumbledore turned back to Irma Pince.

"Thank you again for all your help, Irma. You and Severus have saved Minerva's life, you know."

Irma smiled and nodded tearfully. "Oh, I do hope so. I wanted to be positive for Minerva, but there is still a small chance that Minister Gallagher won't do as he says, isn't there? I know that Severus was very uncomplimentary of him, and I must say, that having met him myself now, I wasn't particularly impressed. He really wants to see Minerva die, doesn't he?"

Dumbledore sighed. "No, Irma. I don't think that Minister Gallagher particularly cares what happens to Minerva. I do think that he's linked himself to the outcome of this trial a bit more than will prove politically astute. I imagine that he'll try very hard to find a way to twist things around so that he can take credit for her being found innocent as much as he would have taken credit for her conviction if he could get it. He's a creature of opportunity, I'm afraid. However, I do believe that when the tests on the wands come back positive, he'll do as he said he would. Madam Bones would insist on it, and the ultimate power here is hers. She's already convinced. So there's no need for you to worry."

Irma smiled. "Yes, Headmaster."

"Now," Dumbledore added, "can you get yourself safely back to Hogwarts without your wand? Where's Severus? Didn't you come with him? He could take you back."

Both of them searched the dwindling crowd for the familiar figure in black to no avail. It was obvious that the Potions master was no longer in the courtroom.

Irma smiled up at Dumbledore in reassurance. "He must have headed back already. We didn't make any plans for after court was over. You need to go and tell Minerva what's going on. She's probably frantic with curiosity by now. Don't worry about me. They were offering Portkeys to anywhere in the community at the front entrance. I'm sure that I can get one back to Hogsmeade. I'll see you later tonight." With that she gave him a final triumphant smile and headed off.

Dumbledore stood and thoughtfully watched as Irma made her way out of the courtroom with the last of the straggling crowd. He couldn't help but wonder why Snape would have left so quickly without waiting to see how things had gone, but perhaps he assumed that he could learn more later at Hogwarts. Not an unreasonable assumption to make. Still…

With a frown on his face and a small shrug, Dumbledore turned and left the courtroom through the side door, dismissing his Potions master from his mind and hurrying off to explain things to his Deputy Headmistress.

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Ian Standish sat straighter in his seat as the Tribunal came back into the room, balling his handkerchief up in his sweaty palm. Once they'd taken their seats and Madam Bones had begun her little speech, his heart sank right down into his shoes. As she frowned thoughtfully at him, he could just see the speculation in her eyes, and he feared that spelled disaster for his plans. When she actually smiled at Minerva as she dismissed everyone, he knew that he'd lost his gamble, and if he didn't move quickly, he'd lose his life as well.

Without bothering to stop and speak to anyone, though there were plenty of people who obviously wanted to speak to him, Standish got to his feet and plowed his way through the crowd as swiftly as he could manage. The blood was pulsing loudly through his dazed brain as he shoved people out of his path with little thought for politeness or propriety. All he could think about was that he had to get out of there as fast as he could. The clock in the back of his mind had suddenly begun to tick with a loud and somber tone. Most likely, he only had until tomorrow morning to make his plans for escape. If he was still within reach of the Dark Lord by then, nothing but disaster awaited him.

Voldemort had already been displeased over his failure to get Minerva's money by romancing her, something he'd been sure he could accomplish. Once that hadn't worked, Standish had then managed to convince him that he had the power and influence to obtain her estate after she'd been convicted and sentenced to death, something that should have been certain. Now it appeared to be anything but, and if he wanted to keep living himself, he had no choice but to run as far and as fast as he could. The Dark Lord would not be talked into believing him again.

Unnoticed in the crowded back of the courtroom, Severus Snape watched Standish with the cold, hooded eyes of a predator. When Madam Bones frowned at the man, a tight, satisfied smile crept stealthily across Snape's face. There was little doubt that she, at least, was satisfied as to the truth of the situation. When she smiled at Minerva as she stood to leave, he almost laughed aloud. Minerva would be all right now, but before he could see her again, there was something else that he had to do. Something important.

When Standish jumped to his feet and began to push his way out of the courtroom as if the hounds of hell nipped at his heels, Snape wrapped his cloak around himself and quietly followed the man from the room.

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Standish burst into his private study and ran across the room to the credenza. With a shaking hand, he poured himself a stiff drink and tossed it down as if it was water. Then he poured another and after taking a large sip of that one, held it in his hand and stared into space trying to organize his thoughts.

Fortunately, he'd made provision for an escape before he'd even begun this venture, though never had he expected to actually need to use it. Why hadn't this worked? It should have. Minerva should have been charmed into his bed once more, and her estate should have been his again. It had seemed so simple. Obviously, he'd forgotten what a stubborn, willful, and independent creature she was. His eagerness to once more taste the delights she used to give him had blinded him to that rather considerable flaw in his plan.

Still, his backup plan should have worked. It had been foolproof! No one knew about that obscure spell. No one! There shouldn't have been any way that they could have found out about it. He'd slaved for decades to remove the sound from that pensieve before finally hitting on the necessary method. The plan had been perfect. Minerva should be on her way to the gallows now, but instead, he was the one facing a deadly danger.

Downing the rest of his drink with an angry snarl, he slammed the glass down onto the sideboard and turned away. It didn't really matter what went wrong. He might never know exactly how it all turned against him. What he had to concentrate on now was getting away from here before anything else could happen. He had until tomorrow. That should be more than enough time to make a clean escape.

With determined steps, he crossed to a nearby section of wall, grabbed a hanging tapestry with his hand and savagely yanked the thing down from its mooring. Discarding it impatiently, he slipped his wand out of his pocket and began the tedious task of removing the several layers of illusion spells that protected his private safe from discovery.

Once he had the door open, he reached inside, pulled out a large black satchel and began filling it up with the rest of the contents of the safe. There was enough money here to tide him over for quite a little while. Along with investments that couldn't be tied to him, and the deed to a bit of property that no one other than himself knew anything about, he should be able to hide out quite comfortably for some time. By this time tomorrow, he'd be sitting on the veranda of his secluded little villa and enjoying the services of his lovely and very talented personal maid.

As he was smiling at the thought of that one ray of sunshine just waiting for him in an otherwise cloud filled life, the door to the study opened, and his wife entered with an expression on her face that would stifle even the most determined sun.

"There you are, Ian. Delby told me you'd returned. Why didn't you come and tell me what happened?" she exclaimed as she walked in, quite obviously annoyed with him, but that was certainly nothing new. The tiresome woman was always annoyed about something.

When she realized that he was packing objects from a safe that she'd never seen before into a bag, she stopped dead in her tracks and simply stared at him.

"What are you doing?" she whispered hoarsely, though the implications of his actions weren't entirely lost on her. In fact, a chill stab of fear coursed through her when his only answer was a harsh laugh.

Standish closed his bag with a snap and setting it down on the nearby couch, he crossed to his wary wife with a nasty sneer on his face.

"I'm sure that even you can figure out what I'm doing if you think about it, Nelda. I'm packing. I need to take a little trip."

"Why? Where are you going? What happened at the trial? Wasn't Minerva convicted?" Her voice rose with fear as he approached her.

"No. And it doesn't look as if she will be," exclaimed Standish in disgust.

"She's going to go free? But why? That evidence you had… It was so clear and definite! She's guilty. She has to be..." A pleading note entered her tone.

Standish shrugged. "Actually, she isn't. They've found a way to counter the evidence. I imagine that she'll be freed tomorrow."

Nelda felt panic constrict her heart with horror and confusion. "She was innocent? Oh, my god. You're going back to her, aren't you? You're leaving me for that bitch and her land."

Standish laughed; god, the woman was thick. "Do you really think that Minerva would have me after I turned in that evidence against her? You really are a stupid cow."

"Then why are you leaving?" As Ian didn't answer, she raised her hand to her lips as the reality that she'd been avoiding forced itself on her. "Oh, my god. I didn't want to believe it of you. I've been telling myself that you wouldn't ever do something that hideous…but it's true, isn't it? That pensieve full of those horrible memories… Somehow you made all that up, didn't you? You wanted her land so much that you were willing to lie, to perjure yourself…to even see her die, if it meant that you'd get your hands on that land. Oh, Ian, how could you do something that horrid?"

Standish grabbed her roughly by the arm and pulled her closer as he placed a threatening hand against her throat. "How I could I afford not to? That land was mine! Mine! And it should have remained mine no matter what, but no, I had to give it up in exchange for you and your puling brat! An exchange so egregious and inequitable that my blood boils every time I think of it. This whole mess is your fault, Nelda, and you may be sure that I intend to make you pay for it."

Savagely, he rammed his fist into her shocked face and watched in satisfaction as she fell to the floor, blood spurting from her split lip.

Before she could gather herself together enough to move away from him, he drew back his foot and kicked her viciously in the stomach, shoulders, and face again and again until she moaned weakly and subsided into unconsciousness, her blood pooling in vivid splotches on the lush oriental rug.

Standish laughed down at the now insensate figure of his wife and grabbed up his bag from the couch. "I don't have the time to stay and deal with you properly, my dear wife, but you'd better watch your back because when you least expect it, I'll have my revenge."

Leaving her bloody and battered body behind him in his study, Standish headed for the door to his house. There were more things that he needed to collect from his office in the stables. Then once he had them, he could make his escape. Let Nelda stay here and deal with the creditors when they came knocking. Their bank vault was already emptied of everything of value; all she had now was a houseful of trash and a large assortment of debts.

Pausing to wipe the smears of blood and gore from his boot on the runner by the door, Standish left the manor and crossed the courtyard behind the house, heading for the stables that loomed across a small expanse of snow covered lawn.

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Minerva paced worriedly back and forth in her cell waiting for Dumbledore to come and explain what had gone on in court. He and Irma seemed so certain that it was over, that she'd be acquitted, but how? Why were they suddenly so sure that she'd be freed? What was in this mysterious spellbook that Irma had brought to the trial? Minerva kicked the edge of her cot in aggravation as she stalked past. How much longer was she to be expected to wait? It was her life that hung in the balance here. She deserved to know what was going to happen to it.

The sudden sound of a key grating in the lock brought her to a halt as she stared eagerly at the door waiting for it to open and give her answers. Moments later, it swung open to admit Albus Dumbledore to the room. The guard with the key closed the door behind him and locked it once more, but Minerva barely noticed his leaving as she crossed the room to stand before her friend and demand an explanation.

"It's about time," she declared hotly before he could even give her a greeting. "What took you so long, Albus? I've been going out of my mind with questions. What happened? What is this spell that you and Irma are so sure will free me?"

Dumbledore stepped forward to enfold her in his arms. As he dropped a kiss on the top of her head, he smiled. "Let's sit down, and I'll tell you everything."

She smiled uncertainly up into his eyes. "All right, you'd better."

Releasing her from his embrace, the Headmaster took her arm and led her over to the cot where they both sat down.

Minerva raised an eyebrow and folded her hands carefully in her lap, trying to keep a better hold on her impatience as she waited for him to finally explain everything.

With a sigh, Dumbledore began to speak. "The spell in the spellbook that Irma and Severus found is a very old and virtually forgotten spell. It explains everything we've been wondering about. It's a spell of substitution. With this spell, someone can alter the spells cast by another. When you stood in that stable all those years ago and faced Henry Grant, you did cast a spell on him, but it wasn't the killing curse. My guess would be that it was a binding spell or a stunning spell. I imagine that you'd gone after him because you'd been told he'd stolen money from you and would be attempting to leave. Either spell would be logical under the circumstances."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," Minerva agreed readily. "But…I don't…"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "When you cast that spell on Grant, someone else cast a spell on you. That spell substituted the killing curse for the one you'd intended to cast."

Minerva's jaw dropped. "Such a thing isn't possible," she whispered.

"Oh, but I'm afraid it is. When I went inside the pensieve of memories and watched you cast your spell on Grant, I could see by the look on your face that you were shocked by what you'd done. You never intended to kill anyone, but that was the result despite your intentions. The killing curse requires that you intend to kill, Minerva. Clearly since you didn't intend to kill, whatever it might have looked like, you couldn't have cast the killing curse. I could also see that which Severus had already noticed."

"Severus?" she exclaimed. "What did he notice?"

"Severus figured out what had been bothering him about that pensieve copy of Ian's. He'd noticed that in the memories the flash from your wand wasn't the emerald green of the Avada Kadavra at all, but was instead a faded flash of bluish green. Now, the popular thought was that the color had simply dimmed over time, as the sound in the pensieve had disappeared due to a malfunction of the mechanism. But that wasn't the case. We were simply misinterpreting what was placed in front of us, as was no doubt intended all along.

"In his youth, Severus remembered hearing about a spell that substituted one spell for another and had a bluish green flash, but he'd never run across any proof of its existence. So he and Irma set out to find it. The two of them searched the entire collection of the library looking for the right spell."

"And they found it?" Minerva gasped. "In the library at Hogwarts?"

"No. They didn't find it there, and were quite despondent when they didn't. Fortunately, Irma remembered the cache of spellbooks that we'd hidden away in the Green tower. I should have thought of them myself, but with all I had to be thinking about, I'm ashamed to say that their existence slipped my mind."

"Oh, my goodness, " Minerva murmured softly. "I always hated having those things in the school. The spells they contained were so dangerous. It seemed like such an unnecessary risk to take, having them around, and now you're telling me that I owe my life to their existence?"

Dumbledore smiled.

"You owe your life to Severus and Irma's hard work, but yes, those books were where the spell was finally found. Magic is magic, my dear. It's only truly dark if you choose to use it for evil purposes."

Minerva covered her mouth and stared off into space for a moment before shaking her head incredulously. "This is so difficult to believe. Did you and Irma demonstrate this spell to the Tribunal?"

"Yes, and it worked exactly as it was meant to. There's no doubt in my mind that this spell was used on you. The flash was identical to that shown in the pensieve memories. It explained why the pensieve had to be silenced, too. The sound had to be removed so that no one could hear what spell you really cast."

"It makes sense, but it's still not really proof. If they'd accepted it without question, then I'd already be free. What if they don't accept this? What if, in the final analysis, they just can't believe it and convict me anyway?" Fear clutched at her heart once more.

Dumbledore shook his head. "No, I watched Amelia's face when we demonstrated the spell for her. It answers every question we had. She's convinced. I'm certain of it. You saw her smile at you when she dismissed the court. She wouldn't have done that if she didn't believe in your innocence."

"All right." Minerva chose to accept that rationalization and nodded. "Then why do we have to wait until tomorrow? Irma mentioned some tests?"

"Yes. The spellbook includes a test that can be done on a wand to determine whether or not this spell was cast on it. When one uses Priori Incantatem to look at the spells that a wand has cast, the image of any spell that was a substitution would be a bit fuzzier than normal. I noticed when I examined your wand that that was true of the killing curse. I have no doubt that when they perform this test they'll get confirmation that this spell was used on your wand. If so, that's absolute proof that you're innocent."

"So someone else _used_ me to kill Grant," she exclaimed in horror.

"Yes." Dumbledore nodded soberly.

Minerva turned towards him with fire in her eyes. "It had to be Ian! There's no one else it could be! It had to be him."

"Yes, I imagine that's true," Dumbledore agreed.

"That bastard!" she exclaimed hotly as she sprang to her feet and began to pace around the cell once more. "He used me to kill that man. Somehow, he got me to place my memories in a pensieve and obliviated all memory of the incident from my mind! Then he deliberately hid the evidence for years! Years! Until he could find a way to make use of it. My god, Albus, he's even more despicable than I ever dreamed he was."

Dumbledore nodded in agreement once more but didn't comment.

Minerva whirled around to face her friend again. "He's going to get away with it, isn't he? There's no proof that can tie him to any of this. It's so obvious that he has to be guilty, but he's covered his tracks so well that there's no way, after all this time, to prove that he ever had anything to do with Grant's death. Damn the man!"

"I'm not so sure that Ian will get away with this in the end. If you aren't guilty of this crime, then he really is the only remaining suspect. Once we dig a bit deeper, we may find that he wasn't quite as clever as he's seemed so far." He hesitated before adding, "Though it might not come to that."

"What do you mean?" Minerva's brows drew together in a frown.

"Ian has disappointed Tom for a second time. That's never a smart thing to do."

She gasped. "You think Voldemort might kill Ian?"

Dumbledore shrugged. "I imagine that the possibility must be running through Ian's mind at the moment."

Minerva's expression hardened, and she came back to sink down onto the cot next to Dumbledore. "I should be appalled at that thought, I suppose, but I really can't summon up any sympathy. He was quite ready to see me executed for a crime that he committed."

They sat in silence for a moment, and then Minerva ventured a further question in a soft shaky voice, "How could he have persuaded me to transfigure that man's body into a log and burn it?"

"We don't know that you did burn it."

She looked down at her hands. "That doesn't really matter, though, does it? Something happened to it and no one knows what. I did transform him. That's so wrong! Why would I have done that?"

"Could you have been pregnant at the time?" Dumbledore's quiet voice brought her eyes up to his once more.

"Pregnant?" she whispered. "I don't know. I don't remember that time all that clearly. I suppose I might have been. I so often was to no effect…"

"You'd have done anything to protect your child. Even hidden a death…"

Minerva shook her head reluctantly and gazed up at her friend with pain in her eyes. "I might have been persuaded, but I couldn't have kept that hidden forever. I'd have confessed eventually. I simply couldn't keep a man's death a secret…no matter the cost." She ran her hands across her abdomen and then brought them up to hug herself tightly.

"No. I know you wouldn't, and Ian would have known that too. Which is why he obliviated you."

The anger returned to her expression. "Yes. He played me perfectly, didn't he? I really hate that man…more than I thought I could ever hate anyone." She paused and a troubled expression spread over her face. "If this evidence can't be made public, and I agree that such a spell can't be allowed to become public knowledge, then there will be those who won't believe it if I'm acquitted, you know. They'll think that you simply used your influence or found some loophole to get me off when I was really guilty of murder."

"I'm sorry. There is that danger. But there's little that can be done to change the minds of those who wish to believe ill of others. All we can do is hope that Amelia is very firm in her belief in your innocence in her dismissal speech. You've faced worse than a few doubts in the general populace, Minerva. You can face up to any questions that are left; I know you can."

"If the doubters are widespread, they may object to my teaching their children, you know." How horrid it would be to go through all this and lose what really made her life worthwhile, even though she'd been shown to be innocent.

"I don't believe it will become a problem, but if it does, we'll face it together. I promise," he said reassuringly.

With a soft sigh, she turned a kinder expression on the Headmaster. "Thank you so much for everything you've done, Albus. I'd be facing my death now instead of an acquittal if it wasn't for your help. I was wrong to have thought I could manage alone."

"I'm not the one whom you should thank, Minerva. Irma and Severus are the ones who've been working day and night to find this spell and clear your name."

She nodded. "Yes. I intend to thank them as soon as I have the chance."

Dumbledore reached out and took her hand gently in his. "Severus has been a man possessed ever since you were arrested, you know. He simply wouldn't stop, even for a moment, until he found a way to free you. He loves you very much."

A shiver ran through her at his quiet words, and she turned a doubtful face to her dear friend and searched his expression earnestly. "Oh…I don't…" Her soft voice faded away. She just didn't know how to respond to that. She swallowed hard and looked away again.

Severus had shown such consideration and care for her when he'd visited her in her cell, but did that really mean that his feelings were as strong as hers were? Could he actually love her? There wasn't anything she wanted to believe more, but her heart just wouldn't let her unless she heard it directly from Severus himself, and somehow she didn't really believe she ever would. Even if he actually felt such feelings, he wasn't likely to share them, even with her.

Dumbledore smiled and, putting an arm around her shoulders, pulled her against him, squeezing her gently. "The two of you are going to have to confront your feelings for each other sooner or later, my dear."

She smiled hesitantly and patted his arm companionably before hugging him back. "Well, at least now it looks as if we might have that chance."


	47. Vengeance

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scatteredlogic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help.

**Chapter Forty Seven: Vengeance**

When Ian reached the site of Grant's demise, he yanked open the door impatiently and stepped into the warm semi-darkness within the old building. The stables were sparsely lit with a few magical lanterns along the central corridor. There hadn't been any creatures larger than cats and owls living there for decades, so there wasn't any point in keeping it lit up as if the building was in use everyday.

When the door closed behind him with a sharp click that echoed loudly in the silence, a sudden feeling of unease caused a brief shiver to run through him, but he shook it off impatiently and forced himself to move forward. With a determined stride, he began to walk up the central corridor between the empty stalls, wrinkling his nose in distaste. Even though it had been a long time since horses had been housed here, an odd musky scent still seemed to linger in the air. Before he'd gone very far, several robed and masked figures abruptly stepped out of the darkness of the stalls on either side of him and completely blocked his path.

With a gasp, Standish pulled back and whirled around, only to discover that more dark and silent figures stood behind him with their wands pointed at his head.

"Hello, Ian," a soft, seductive voice snaked out of the dimness to caress his mind, sending ice cascading down his spine. He swallowed the huge lump in his throat with a reflexive gulp as a tall, dark woman stepped out of the shadows and smiled a cold smile into his wide eyes.

"Bellatrix," Ian whispered. His heart began to pound fiercely. This couldn't be happening, not now, not when he was so close to escaping.

The woman raised an eyebrow and gestured towards the bag that he now clutched protectively to his chest with trembling hands. "Going somewhere?"

"No, of course, not. I was merely coming to get some papers that I needed from the office. I've been neglecting my work a bit what with the trial and all," Standish stammered nervously as he tried to think up a good explanation for his being in the stables.

"Ah, yes, the trial. Today was a bit of a surprise now, wasn't it? Suddenly, it looks as if Minerva McGonagall won't be swinging from a gibbet after all. What a shame. I was really looking forward to that. You've disappointed me, Ian, but what's more important, you've disappointed our Master." She shook her head mournfully. "I really thought you knew better than that."

Standish let go of his bag with one hand to make a small futile gesture of remorse. "I did the best I could. It isn't my fault that Dumbledore seems to have figured out what happened. We're only speculating, anyway. The old man has no real proof of anything, no matter what he suspects. Gallagher's case is strong. Minerva could still be convicted. We won't know for certain until tomorrow."

"Mmmm…perhaps, but I have it on good authority that she very likely will be acquitted. Apparently, that old fool of a Headmaster is cleverer than you thought. He's figured out whatever you did to forge those pensieve memories and has managed to persuade Bones to listen to his arguments. So there's little likelihood that you'll be able to get your hands on McGonagall's property, after all. This displeases the Master, and he's sent us to fetch you. He wants to know just how you're going to get him what you promised now, and he wants to hear it from you." Her eyes gleamed in anticipation.

Standish let out a long nervous breath. "Ahhh…I can give the Master what he wants even without McGonagall's land." Desperately, he held out his bag. "I have a start right here, and there's more in the office. Then there's some of my own property that I can sell off which will make up the difference. I've never failed to make good on my promises before. This time will be no different. Lord Voldemort will just have to give me a little more time." As she began to shake her head, he cried desperately, "Not much! Just a little more!"

Bellatrix emitted a silvery laugh that chilled the hearts of all who heard it. "My Lord isn't a patient man, Ian. I thought you'd have learned that by now, and he's given you far too much time and far too many chances already. It's time to go now. Please, don't be tedious about it. You need to face up to your failure like a real man. You can plead and grovel at his feet…just like the rest of them."

Overcome with panic, Standish turned and tried to run, shoving aside the nearest Death Eater, who didn't even try to stop him. Before he could get more than a few steps down the corridor, Bellatrix's voice, full of voluptuous hatred, echoed through his frightened mind.

"Crucio!"

As cold agony burst through him, Standish fell to the ground. The overwhelming pain twisted and seared the nerves in his body and reduced him to a pitiful mass of writhing flesh on the straw strewn floor of the stables.

Bellatrix glided across the floor to tower above him and nudge his body with a well-shod foot as she held the curse for a long moment, savoring her power and his pain.

"Thank you for being so predictable. I do love having the chance to use that spell. Ah, well, playtime's over. I'm afraid that it's time to pay the piper, Ian," she whispered with satisfaction as she released him from his agony and watched him lay gasping weakly as tears coursed down his cheeks and disappeared into his beard. With a brisk nod, she stepped back and gestured casually to two of those who waited to do her bidding.

The Death Eaters stepped forward and picked up Standish's limp body from the floor, holding him tightly. The man raised red-rimmed eyes full of panicked pleading to Bellatrix and whispered, "Please, don't do this. I can get the Dark Lord his money. Just give me a little more time."

A cruel smile twisted Bellatrix' lips as she stepped closer to the desperate Standish. Deliberately, she rubbed her gaunt cheek against his bristly one and kissed him full on the lips, murmuring softly, "That's up to our Master, Ian. It's out of my hands. Let's go and see what he says, shall we?" With a dark chuckle, she stepped back and nodded to the others. Silently, the entire group vanished, leaving the stables apparently empty once more.

After a long moment of utter silence, Snape's dark figure stepped out of a shadowed doorway where he'd concealed himself, and he smiled a vengeful smile of satisfaction.

That would be the end of Ian Standish. After the Dark Lord heard Snape's version of Standish's failure, there wasn't any chance that the man was going to be able to weasel out of this. Standish was a dead man, and Snape was glad of it. With Standish failing to make good on his promise of money for the Dark Lord's coffers, that would likely put a crimp in some of Voldemort's nasty plans as well, so this was all to the good. The Potions master dearly hoped that he'd be able to watch Standish's demise, because he longed to see the man suffer miserably for what he'd done to Minerva, but that was up to Voldemort. He'd done all he could for the moment.

Of course, Standish was only the first. A suitable punishment would have to be devised for Acting Minister Gallagher as well. There were bound to be a few skeletons in his closet. He was a politician, after all, and not above corruption and stepping over the bodies of the innocent on his way to the top. He'd proved that by trying so hard to kill Minerva. A very bad move on his part.

Snape's jaw tightened as he thought about how close that man had come to actually murdering her. Yes, there had to be something that he could dig up and use against him. No doubt somewhere along the way someone as ambitious as he was had ruffled the wrong set of feathers. It was just a matter of time and the use of a little resourcefulness before he figured out the proper revenge there, but he would figure it out…and soon.

Then there was Andrew Pitt and his crew of randy thugs. Their punishment was much simpler. Poor creatures. It was so hard for them to manage out there on that wind swept rock with no women to see to their baser needs. Perhaps the answer to their prayers would be to simply eliminate those needs forever. A cruel smirk crept across Snape's face as he thought about the revenge that he'd already set in motion.

The next few shipments of food to Azkaban would have an extra special ingredient included, one that over a short interval of time would put an end to all those nasty urges for good. Who knows? Perhaps they'd even thank him…if they had any idea who to thank, of course, which they wouldn't. He'd made some effort to see that the foods that were affected were the ones saved for the guards, but a certain amount of overlap with the prisoners was probably unavoidable. Not that most of them would likely even notice considering their current circumstances. Idly, he found his thoughts straying to Lucius Malfoy, one of the more prominent of the current crop of prisoners. Hopefully, for once, the arrogant fool wasn't trying to buy added favors and special treats with his fortune. He just might end up regretting it if he was and wouldn't that be a shame.

Without warning, a sharp, angry burning burst forth from the brand of servitude on his left arm. Someone wasn't in a very good mood…how unfortunate. Slowly, Snape brought his right hand up to caress the pulsing pain with supple fingers as he curled his left hand into a fist and tightened it abruptly. For the first time in his life, he was looking forward to a summons, and with a smile of immense satisfaction, he eagerly vanished, off to watch the pitiful Ian Standish plead for mercy that he didn't have a prayer in hell of attaining.

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Minerva sat tensely in her seat as the courtroom filled up behind her. If it was possible for the room to be any more crowded than it had been the day before, it certainly seemed to be. There was barely room to breathe. Every available seat was filled, and the walls were lined with people two and three deep, all waiting impatiently to see whether she'd be convicted or not. The feeling of anticipation was so strong that you could practically grab handfuls of it out of the air. It was hard to tell which way popular sentiment was leaning though. Would they be disappointed with a not guilty verdict? She fervently hoped not.

Carefully, she cast furtive glances around the room without making it too obvious that she was searching for someone in particular, but no matter where she cast her eyes, she couldn't see Ian anywhere. The place where he'd sat so prominently for the start of the trial was now filled by another, and he was nowhere to be seen. Obviously, he'd made assumptions about the secret evidence that only someone who knew the truth about it would make, and he'd fled during the night rather than stay and possibly be accused of murder in her place. He was going to get away with it! That knowledge lit a burning anger deep within her that she knew would be difficult to put out.

Finally, she dragged her thoughts back to the present, as the door across the room opened and the Tribunal made its stately way into the courtroom. Everyone rose respectfully and the buzz of excited voices died to a barely audible muttering that scuttled around the edges of hearing range.

Once everyone was in their place, the audience sat down again and waited for Amelia Bones to thump her marble in its dish and call the court to order, which she wasted no time in doing.

As the echo died away and the marble glowed bright purple, Madam Bones cleared her throat and addressed the court. "When I dismissed the court yesterday, we had just reconvened after a private consideration of some late submitted evidence. We adjourned to consider this evidence in more detail and to take a closer look at its finer points of interest. We are now finished with our examination and have drawn our conclusions.

"I do feel that I must apologize at this time to you, the members of the public, who have been so patient throughout this trial. Up to now, all evidence has been publicly disclosed, however, that will not be the case with the evidence that we examined behind closed doors yesterday. This evidence, although very powerful and important to this case, will not be made a matter of public record. It is of a highly sensitive nature, and as such, will not be put forth in open court. Though, obviously, it will be considered when rendering a verdict, which will be a matter of public record."

A slightly discontented whispering began to spread through the crowd like a wave. Once it had run its course, Bones nodded and turned to the defense table.

"Professor Dumbledore. Do you have a motion to place before the court?" she asked in a matter of fact tone, clearly expecting him to make a motion for dismissal of charges.

Dumbledore rose from his seat and nodded towards the high bench. "Thank you for the opportunity Madam Bones, but we have decided not to ask for a dismissal of the charges."

A muttering began to swell, but a pause and a stern look from Bones cut it off.

Dumbledore continued, "Minerva McGonagall's reputation has been dragged through the mud and the court of public opinion by the charges that have been presented against her. Throughout most of this trial, you have all acted as if her guilt was merely an inconvenient matter of formality. Now that evidence has been presented that refutes those charges, I think it only fair that a verdict of not guilty be rendered in this case. That way no one will be left with any doubt as to her innocence. Especially since the evidence that cleared her name will not be made public." He was very aware, as was Minerva, that without that public airing of the evidence, some people would always harbor doubts, and he was determined to do all that he could to stop as much of that silent whispering as possible.

Bones nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. Do either you or Minister Gallagher wish to make a final statement?"

Dumbledore shook his head. "I cannot speak for Minister Gallagher. However, we are content to accept your verdict based on the evidence presented, as we are certain that you will rule that Minerva McGonagall is not guilty of this crime." He then sat back down and turned to smile reassuringly at Minerva who returned his smile as confidently as she could manage.

Bones then turned to the Minister of Magic, who looked a trifle more subdued than he had before, matching his somber attire with a calm and slightly discontented expression. He rose to his feet very slowly and, not looking anywhere but at the Tribunal on the bench, he stated solemnly, "I have nothing to add to the case that I presented, Madam Bones."

An expression of satisfaction flashed across her face, and her monocle glimmered in the torchlight. Dumbledore heaved a silent sigh of relief at this capitulation by the Minister of Magic. He'd been certain that the positive test results on Minerva and Irma's wands, which he'd been told about before court began, would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone other than Minerva had cast the killing curse. Yet a small part of him had worried that since Gallagher had attached his reputation as a firm and decisive Minister of Magic so strongly to the outcome of this trial that he might still be trying to find a way to save face, and in doing so, might muddy the waters of Minerva's acquittal. Now it appeared that that wouldn't be the case. Perhaps the man now pinned his hopes on the fact that under his watch a horrid miscarriage of justice had been averted. There were many ways to spin a defeat, after all, and Minister Gallagher was an expert spinner, without a doubt.

"Very well," Bones paused and glanced at the other two members of her team, who were watching her complacently, seemingly content to allow her to do all the talking for the three of them, before turning back to the courtroom and stating their verdict.

"We find the defendant, Minerva McGonagall, to be not guilty of the murder of Henry Grant."

A huge uproar surged outward from the watching crowd, and Bones began to bang her marble against its dish in order to attract everyone's attention and to get them to settle down once more because she had a bit more to add to her pronouncement. Once quiet had mostly been restored, she continued, "Professor Dumbledore has a valid point, in that as long as the deciding pieces of evidence must remain secret, there are likely to be those who might doubt the validity of Professor McGonagall's acquittal.

"Therefore, I would like to add for the record, that all three of us on this Tribunal are completely and unanimously satisfied that Minerva McGonagall has no culpability whatsoever in the death of Henry Grant. As far as we are concerned, she has been completely cleared of all charges. Unfortunately, the evidence doesn't allow us to point the finger of guilt at anyone else, at this time."

Dumbledore noticed that her eyes shifted momentarily to where Ian Standish had been sitting throughout the trial, and she manifested a faint frown at not finding him there today.

Bones continued, "So, for now, we must state for the record that Henry Grant met his death through the actions of a person as yet unknown to this court. Further investigation into this death will be pursued by the Department of Law Enforcement. Court is now adjourned."

Minerva let out a huge shaky breath as the marble ball thumped one last time, and its glow was finally extinguished. Then she turned to embrace Dumbledore tightly. It was over; at last, this long, horrible nightmare was over. "Thank you, Albus. Thank you, so much," she whispered softly.

He embraced her back equally strongly, but before he could reply, she was besieged by well wishers from the watching crowd. Irma and Remus and the Weasleys, every last one of them, had to hug and congratulate her and reiterate how they'd never doubted her innocence for a moment. Minerva gratefully accepted all these good wishes and embraces in a daze of happiness and relief.

As she was being hugged by Remus Lupin, she happened to glance up towards the farthest tier of the room, and her eyes were caught for a brief moment by those of the one she most wanted to embrace. He stood alone at the back of the room as the crowd surged around him. His eyes locked with hers for a brief moment, and the shadow of a smile played around his lips. Then the crowd pushed its way between them in a flurry of bodies, and when she could see again to the back of the room, he was gone.

After, she'd been hugged and petted and congratulated by everyone within reach, Dumbledore took her arm and drew her aside, saying that they still had to sign a few documents of the court before she'd be free to leave. She nodded and turned to him with a grim, determined look on her face.

"Once we've signed all the necessary papers, and I'm officially a free woman once more, there's one further thing I need to do before we leave the Ministry."

Dumbledore raised an inquiring brow. "Oh? What would that be?"

"I need to speak to Amelia. I have a few choice words to share with her concerning Mr. Pitt and his little fiefdom in the North Sea."

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**Next Chapter:** Home…


	48. Home

Disclaimer: None of the recognizable characters and settings belong to me. They are all the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing around with them for the fun of it…no monetary gain is sought.

This story is dedicated to **scattered logic** for her cherished friendship and all her invaluable help. :

**Chapter Forty Eight: Home**

(This chapter has been slightly altered to better comply with stringent guidelines concerning sexual content. The unaltered chapter can be found on my homepage, which can be found via a link on my profile page here on fanfiction. Thank you for your interest. shadowycat)

Minerva and Albus appeared together by the gates of Hogwarts in the early afternoon. All was silent around them. A recent snowfall had blanketed the ground with a cover of white that was breathtakingly dazzling in the cold winter sunshine. Minerva took a deep breath of the crisp air and was grateful that Albus had brought her a warm cloak to wear, since her own hadn't left the castle when she had.

The castle itself glimmered and sparkled invitingly in the near distance, and they turned towards it and began to walk along the road that led to its door. Snow crunched loudly beneath their feet, and the closer they got to Hogwarts, the larger the lump in Minerva's throat grew.

It was so overwhelming to be back here again. She'd given up believing that she ever would be, and had mentally said goodbye to this life forever. Yet now, here she was on the grounds of Hogwarts, and everything appeared exactly the same as it always had. She could almost deceive herself into believing that everything that had occurred in the last week had never really happened at all. At least she could believe it here in the bright light of day, for suddenly she had an uncomfortable feeling that those shadowy events would likely haunt her dreams for many months to come. That sort of lurking horror thrived best in the darkness of the night, after all.

Dumbledore reached over and clasped her arm in his as they neared the inner courtyard. "Glad to be back?"

Dismissing her momentary fears with an exhalation of breath, she turned shining eyes his way. "Oh, yes. I can't tell you how happy I am to be back. I was so afraid that I'd never see any of this again. Thank you so much for everything that you did, Albus. I can never repay you."

Squeezing her arm happily, he replied, "You don't owe me any debt, Minerva. It was to my advantage to see you freed, you know. It's been terribly difficult managing without my Deputy Headmistress this week, and it would be so inconvenient to have to select another person to take over the job at such short notice. I'm afraid that you'll find a fair amount of paperwork waiting for you piled up on your desk."

A smile played with the corners of her lips, and she cast him an impish glance. "As I recall, I resigned my job here. I don't think I'm required to do any paperwork that's accumulated while I didn't hold the position. In fact, I still haven't been offered it back. As far as I'm concerned, I'm here for a visit only. There's certainly no work that I have to be doing at the moment. I'm currently unemployed."

The Headmaster responded to that statement with a solemn nod of his white head. "Ah, yes, I do seem to recall that you turned in your resignation. However, it's been so busy around here lately, what with the trial and the end of term, that I don't believe I ever got around to formally accepting it and taking you off the payroll. Your pay has been accruing throughout your little vacation, so I do believe that any work that's accumulated during that period of time would indeed be your responsibility."

Minerva laughed and shook her head, conceding him victory. "Well, I suppose it was too much to ask that I'd be able to walk away from this mess a completely free woman. Though next time, do insist that I pick a warmer spot for my "vacation", will you? I'm beginning to think I'll never be completely warm again."

"I shall indeed, and there's really not too much of a rush getting to the paperwork. After all, it's Christmas break. Most of the students are gone on holiday, as are some of the staff, though quite a few did remain to welcome you back." He smiled fondly at her.

Absently, she nodded, her smile faltering momentarily. "That's kind of them."

Christmas break. She'd forgotten all about the holiday. With everything that happened before she was arrested, she certainly hadn't done anything to prepare for it. With the exception of Irma's gift, she hadn't bought a single thing for anyone. That meant she'd have to go shopping…in public. Apparently, discovering how people would react to her acquittal would happen a bit sooner than she might have wished. Oh, well, she knew that she'd have to cross that bridge eventually. Sooner was as good as later, and it probably wouldn't be as uncomfortable as she feared. There was no point in borrowing any more trouble; it had been quite efficient about finding her all on its own lately, anyway.

As they continued up the roadway into the inner courtyard, Dumbledore spoke again, "I think Amelia was quite shocked by your report on Mr. Pitt and the way he's been running things out at Azkaban."

Minerva's expression turned grim. "Good. I certainly was. I hope she's shocked enough to take swift action against the lot of them. The behavior of those men is criminal. They all deserve to be behind bars themselves instead of being free to abuse those placed under their control."

"Now that she knows what's going on, I do think things will improve."

"They'd better," Minerva snapped. "I fully intend to keep an eye on that situation, and if something isn't done, both Amelia and Minister Gallagher might just find themselves having to make some very public explanations for the way they've let their prison be run. Somehow, I don't think that a prison scandal will enhance Gallagher's chances of keeping his position. Hopefully, he'll keep that in mind when looking into this travesty."

When they finally pulled open the castle door and walked together into the entrance hall, all was silent and still, save for the usual rustling whispers of the portraits on the stairs. Minerva thought fleetingly that it would have been nice to have someone there to greet them, though she had to admit that no one could have known exactly when they'd be arriving, and a welcoming committee might have been difficult to manage on short notice.

Wading through all the paperwork for her release and filling Amelia's ear full of eye-opening information regarding Andrew Pitt and his ghastly minions had taken rather longer than she'd thought it would. It was now approaching two in the afternoon; any sensible person would have long ago eaten their lunch and gone about their business.

They crossed the hall to the cloak closet and as Minerva handed Albus her cloak to hang up, she glanced around the empty room and asked, "Where do you suppose everyone will be by now?"

"Looking forward to seeing them all?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," she answered with a slight hitch in her voice. "Though, I think this first meeting might be a trifle awkward. However, I do long for life to return to normal and getting this over with is the first step towards accomplishing that goal."

Dumbledore nodded. "I can understand that. Actually, everyone who's still here should be waiting in the small private dining room behind the Great Hall. I told Filius to prepare a welcome home dinner for you there. As he's usually quite efficient about such things, I imagine that's where we'll find everyone at the moment."

"That was kind of you, Albus. I do hope that they haven't been waiting for too long. They're probably famished by now." Minerva smiled fondly.

"Well, then let's not keep them waiting any longer, shall we?" He extended his arm towards her, and she grasped it with pleasure and allowed him to escort her down the corridor.

As they approached the small dining room, Minerva's heart began to beat noticeably faster. Why should this homecoming be making her more nervous than her trial had? It was silly. Yet even as that thought crossed her mind, she realized that it wasn't the homecoming itself, or seeing all her colleagues and friends once more that was making her heart pound like this, it was the hope of seeing one particular person. Would he be waiting behind that door with the rest of them?

Standing back with a smile, Dumbledore gestured for her to open the door, so she did and entered the room to a chorus of good wishes and welcoming cries. Filius had outdone himself with the decorations, and the small room, lit with dazzling sunshine, was full of streamers and balloons and a huge banner that welcomed her home with colorful, sparkling lettering.

Her colleagues all converged on her at once, laughing and talking and vying for the chance to embrace her and tell her how much they'd missed her and how glad they were to have her back safely. Everyone wanted to be the first to talk and touch and, for a brief moment, she felt as if she were being smothered in affection. That feeling was particularly strong when Hagrid, managing to get in front of everyone else due to his sheer physical advantage, lifted her right off her feet with his enthusiastic welcome home.

When Poppy embraced her fiercely, she made a point of telling Minerva that Ian had never fooled her at all. He had such unpleasant eyes, you know. Obviously, he was a man who couldn't be trusted. Somehow, Minerva managed to hold back her instinctive reaction and merely thanked Poppy for her concern and agreed quite readily that Ian was not a man to be trusted.

Filius was his usual bouncy, effusive self and welcomed her back with such obvious delight that it brought momentary tears to her eyes. Though this horrible situation had caught everyone here by surprise, clearly they'd all supported her and had never for a moment thought her guilty of the crime that she herself had worried that she might have committed. Such steadfast belief in her innocence touched her very deeply.

She was especially pleased to find Arabella Figg here with the rest of them impatiently waiting her turn for a hug.

"Thank you so much for your help in court, Arabella. It meant a lot to me," exclaimed Minerva sincerely, when Mrs. Figg pulled back from a hug that, despite her somewhat frail exterior, proved absolutely that she could crack ribs with the best of them.

Arabella reddened in pleased embarrassment. "I just told the truth that's all, Minerva. Those Ministry fools should have known better than to accuse you of something like that in the first place. I always thought Amelia Bones had more sense, but I guess she wasn't much better than the rest of them. I'm just glad they saw the light before it was too late."

Minerva shivered. "Oh, yes, I am, too," she agreed with a smile.

When Arabella moved off to speak with Flitwick, Minerva suddenly found herself enveloped in a mass of feathers and scarves as Sibyll wafted closer and seized her in a surprisingly fervent hug.

"I just knew that things would work out well for you, Minerva. Your aura never dipped into the darkness but always remained bright and steadfast in my vision. That's an excellent sign, you know," she gushed.

Minerva spat out a mouthful of scarlet feathers and pulled back from Sibyll's arms, smiling a tolerant smile. "Thank you for the faith you had in me, Sibyll. I really do appreciate it."

Sibyll beamed benignly and moved away to let Irma have her turn.

Though Irma had already had a chance to congratulate her at the Ministry, she was still eager to give her another big hug and welcome her home.

Minerva smiled and thanked her friend once more. "I wouldn't be here without you, Irma."

Irma blushed in embarrassment. "I couldn't stand to think of what Hogwarts…or my life…would be like without you, Minerva. I just did the best I could. I'm so glad it was enough."

"It was wonderful, and so are you. Thank you." Minerva smiled at her friend and mentally thanked whoever was in charge of such matters that such a special person had come to care about her. Where would she be without her friends? It didn't even bear thinking about.

As she embraced Irma happily, she raised her eyes to the watching group and suddenly found her gaze caught and held by the intense dark eyes of Severus Snape. She could feel herself freeze up as a flush crept slowly up her throat to tinge her cheeks with warmth.

Until this moment, she hadn't been able to see him in the midst of the mob, Hagrid alone made quite an effective screen, but now that all of the others had had their chance to welcome her back, his turn was finally at hand.

Irma felt her friend stiffen in her arms, and she released her and turned to discover what or who had captured her attention and caused this sudden tenseness. The librarian suppressed a smile at finding Severus standing behind them staring at Minerva with a slightly nervous expression on his face. Of course, who else would it be?

Irma stepped out of the way, leaving Minerva and Severus facing each other as time seemed to hold its breath, and neither of them moved for a long moment. Minerva was sorely tempted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him passionately; even knowing that to do that would cause unbelievable chaos. He still looked quite tired, though nowhere near as haggard as he'd looked the last time they'd been together. Her release had apparently allowed him to finally get some much needed rest, and she was very glad of that. She'd been quite worried about him.

The spell of silence was abruptly broken as Snape stepped closer and smiled a slightly wintry smile while he extended his hand in welcome. With a soft sigh and a faintly disappointed expression on her face, Minerva reached out and clasped his strong, cool hand in hers, squeezing it hard while her eyes sparkled with hidden feeling.

"Thank you for all you did to help me, Severus. I understand that I owe my life to you…and Irma." Her voice shook slightly.

He squeezed her hand tightly in return and then released it with a casual shrug. "We did what we could. There was no doubt that you were innocent of such a crime. I'm pleased that we were able to prove that and get you released. Finding a new Transfiguration teacher at this point in the year would no doubt have been very difficult, and I certainly had no desire to assume any more of your duties as Deputy to the Headmaster. Especially not if he was always busy teaching your classes. Obviously, it was only practical to see that you were released so that you could resume these duties yourself."

She smiled happily at his rationalization for saving her life. "You sound just like Albus. Apparently, there must be an appalling amount of work waiting for me after a week's absence if you're both so eager to hand the job back to me. Still, I can see your point, but thank you anyway."

He inclined his head politely. "You're welcome."

When the silence stretched out between them once more, Dumbledore stepped up and clapped his hands as he directed everyone towards the table now laden with food.

"Ah, well, now that we've all had a chance to welcome Professor McGonagall back amongst us, it's time for a little feast. I see that the house-elves have outdone themselves as usual. Shall we?"

Everyone agreed that they should, and the table was quickly filled up with happy, chatting people, all awkward silences forgotten in the general euphoria of the moment.

Minerva was given the place of honor at the head of the table, with Albus seated at her right hand and Irma at her left. Severus took a seat at the far end of the table so that every time she glanced up, she couldn't fail to see him sitting there watching her silently. Without a doubt, it was one of the longest meals that Minerva could ever remember experiencing.

Just before dessert was served, Dobby popped up out of nowhere and whispered something quietly in the Headmaster's ear. The look of concern that immediately spread itself across his face caused Minerva's heart to jump up into her throat. What could possibly be wrong now? After Dobby left, she leaned closer and asked in a quiet voice, "What's wrong? What did Dobby have to say? Surely nothing else has happened?"

Dumbledore glanced around at the rest of the table, but from the level of conversation that was filling the air, it was obvious that no one else had noticed Dobby's furtive whisper, especially as his vanishing was accompanied by the appearance of a table full of succulent sweets.

As everyone began to fill their plates and continued to chat happily, the Headmaster leaned closer to Minerva and whispered, "The authorities just found Ian's body hanging from a tree on his own property. He'd been tortured to death."

Minerva couldn't quite suppress a faint gasp of shock, and her face lost all its color. "Oh, dear," she whispered back. "Do you think it was…Voldemort?"

"Very likely," murmured Dumbledore

Then, as another thought made her blood run suddenly cold, she added in a stricken tone, "The doubters will be certain that I'm responsible."

Dumbledore shook his head and patted her hand reassuringly. "No, my dear. His death apparently occurred sometime last night, while you were still in custody. No one will blame you for it. In fact, this may make it easier to clear your name even more definitively. An investigation may very well prove that he was attempting to flee, which could easily be twisted into an admission of guilt in Henry Grant's death. I don't think you'll have anything to be concerned about here. He's out of your life forever now."

She nodded slowly as that thought took hold. "Yes, he is, isn't he? I probably should be sorrier than I am that he's dead, but after what he put me through, I can't quite summon up any true sympathy for the man. He brought all this on himself, after all."

"Yes, he did," Dumbledore agreed quietly.

As she turned back to the table, Severus caught her eye and raised a questioning eyebrow. Not having any way to answer him from the other end of the table, she merely smiled a slightly uneasy smile and allowed herself to be drawn back into conversation with her nearer neighbors.

Once dinner was finally over, Minerva found herself becoming more and more impatient to get away from everyone. At this point, the only person whom she wanted to talk to was Severus, and she couldn't do that until all these other well meaning people simply went away and got back to their own lives. However, since everyone was on holiday at the moment, no one appeared to be in any hurry to leave, and as the guest of honor, she couldn't seem to find an opening to suggest that enough was enough.

Finally, a couple of people did leave, wishing her well once more and finding reasons to take themselves away. Unfortunately, one of those who left was Severus. As the door closed behind him, she knew that her expression took on a gloomier cast.

A soft voice spoke low in her ear, and she turned away from contemplating Severus' exit to find Irma clutching her arm and speaking earnestly to her.

"That man loves you, Minerva. No matter how much he protests that he did everything just to save himself from an extra workload, that's far from the truth. He was completely driven to save you from the moment those two horrible men dragged you out of the castle. He barely ate or slept while you were gone, you know. I don't know what he'd have done if we hadn't found that spell. He was absolutely desperate by the time we did."

As Minerva opened her mouth automatically to reply, Irma held up a hand and shook her head. "I know, I know, neither of you will ever admit it to me, but I'm not quite the fool you both seem to take me for. He loves you. I'm absolutely certain of that, and what's more, I think you love him, too. So don't waste your breath denying it."

Minerva's expression softened, and she shook her head, replying with a faint touch of amusement in her tone, "All right, I won't. I do love him. Obviously, you were able to see that even before I was. I don't know if he returns those feelings or not, Irma, but I'm simply going to have to find out."

Irma smiled reassuringly. "You have nothing to worry about, Minerva. He does return them. I'm positive he does."

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It was another hour before the gathering truly broke up. Minerva fully intended to go directly to the dungeon once she could escape. By this point, she was fairly desperate to speak to Severus alone, but the well meaning Flitwick insisted on escorting her up to her room. In the end, she figured that it would be easier to simply go along with him and then go back down to the dungeons once he'd finally left her to herself. If he ever did.

When they got to her door, she was certain that he was quite prepared to simply follow her inside and keep on talking, but she cut him off, pleading exhaustion, which was the absolute truth. Between the mental turmoil of her vindication, her telling Amelia Bones just what was what at the prison, and this interminable get together with the staff, she was suddenly feeling completely done in. By now, she didn't even think she'd have the energy to go down to try to find Severus. All she wanted right this instant was some peace and quiet and maybe a quick nap in a real bed without lumps.

As Flitwick headed off down the corridor with a cheery wave, Minerva turned away with a sigh of relief and opened the door to her room. Once inside, she gazed around in awe. All of her belongings were back in their proper places. Nothing was so much as a millimeter out of place; it was almost as if she'd never packed them up for storage at all. What the heck was going on?

While she stood there and stared around her with a puzzled look on her face, Snape rose from his seat by the fireplace and addressed her, making her jump slightly and turn to him in surprise. How had she missed seeing him sitting there?

"Well, that took longer than I expected. Let me guess, Flitwick, having not had the chance to bend your ear for a full week, was intent on making up for every lost moment."

She smiled fondly at him. He looked so wonderful standing there. "Just about. Once everyone else had finally decided that they had other places to be, he still insisted on walking me back to my rooms. He's a dear man, but I've never met anyone who loves to talk as much as he does. He'd have followed me inside if I hadn't pleaded exhaustion. Which wasn't much of an exaggeration, actually."

Snape nodded but didn't reply and a pregnant silence filled the room as they just stood there and looked at each other.

Finally, Minerva spoke again. "What brings you here? I assumed that I'd have to come down to the dungeon to find you."

Pleased to think that she had intended to do just that, Snape allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction as he reached into his pocket and withdrew her wand. Stepping towards her, he held it out.

"I wanted to return your wand. I thought you might need it back as soon as possible."

"Oh," she exclaimed softly, as she closed the distance between them and took the polished wooden rod from his hand, clasping it tightly once more; she relished the feeling of possessing it again. "Thank you. I'd almost forgotten that you still had it. I appreciate you keeping it safe for me."

He nodded. "You're welcome. I was…glad to help."

As she slid the wand into her pocket, patting it nervously, she extended her other hand and indicated the well-ordered room. "Did you do all this, too?"

A slightly arrogant expression crossed his features as he snorted in amusement. "Of course, not. I wouldn't have even known where to begin. I did tell the house-elves to do it though. Since they keep it all clean and tidy, I figured they'd know as well as anyone where everything belonged. I thought you should come home to quarters that looked as if you'd never left them."

Touched by his thoughtfulness, she nodded and blinked back sudden tears as she glanced around her welcoming rooms. "Home," she whispered softly. "Yes, I am finally home. There were times when I never thought I would be again."

Abruptly, she cleared her throat and raised her head, banishing the tears and smiling at him. "Thank you. That was very kind of you."

"Not at all. Now, tell me, what caused you to go so pale before dessert downstairs. Don't think that I missed Dobby's quick whisper to the Headmaster, or your reaction to whatever he told you. Has something else gone wrong?"

She sighed. "Apparently, Ian was murdered during the night. They found his body sometime after court was dismissed this morning."

Abruptly filled with a tense alertness, Snape raised an eyebrow and chose his words with care. "Well, I certainly can't say that bothers me very much. That man deserved to die for what he did to you. Do the authorities know who killed him?"

Sudden suspicion chilled her heart, and a faint shadow flitted through her eyes. "I don't know. Albus and I assumed that it was Voldemort. Do you know if that might be true?" Despite her fears, she couldn't bear to simply ask him if he'd been involved in any way.

Shrugging his stiff shoulders casually, Snape answered in a carefully neutral voice, "It certainly could be true. As we both know, the Dark Lord is neither a patient nor a forgiving person. Standish had failed in his objective of getting you convicted of murder and stealing your estate. That was quite obvious from the way court was dismissed yesterday. If the man was foolish enough to try to pack up and leave last night instead of trying to stay and bluff it out, that would be all the excuse that Voldemort would need. You don't make promises to him that you can't fulfill and expect to walk away unscathed."

Minerva watched him with assessing eyes. She knew what kind of a man Severus Snape was…knew the bad as well as the good, and she loved him anyway. But did she really want to know the extent of his involvement in Ian's death? Ian was dead. There was no changing it now, and if she examined her own feelings closely, she had to admit, as uncomfortable as it made her, that she wasn't sorry he was gone and could no longer plague her life.

She was alive, and so was Severus, and she wanted him in her life more than anything, whether he had any involvement in Ian's death or not. Ian had brought his fate on himself with all his lies and maneuverings. Now was the time to put him and everything about him aside and let it go.

Minerva smiled up at Severus and nodded her head. "I suppose you're right," she agreed.

Pleased to have escaped that trap so easily, Snape smiled more comfortably and stepped closer, raising a hand to lightly caress her cheek. "Of course, I am. I believe we'd established that fact before, as well as the fact that you should listen more closely to my advice."

Her cheeks flushed at his touch and the sudden warmth coursed down through her body, filling her with a sharp, aching desire for him.

Snape continued softly, "In fact, now that you're back at Hogwarts once more and free to do all those things that you worried that you'd never have the chance to do again, it's my opinion that you shouldn't waste any more time before indulging yourself."

"You're right again," she said with a smile, as she laid a gentle hand on his waist and slid it possessively around his body.

Snape's smile broadened as his arms began to encircle her in return. "We could begin by reinstating our arrangement…" he murmured warmly.

Her smiling eyes, turned suddenly serious, and she reluctantly shook her head, causing him to freeze in place in the act of pulling her against him.

"I don't want an arrangement with you any longer, Severus," she whispered softly.

His heart constricted violently and a faint buzzing began to fill his head. Was she really going to reject him? After everything they'd been through? After everything she'd come to mean to him?

Instinctively, he settled his usual cold mask back over his features and began to pull away, but she grabbed onto him more firmly and held his now rigid body in place against her own, staring deeply into his suddenly wary eyes.

"Please, don't misunderstand me," she pleaded earnestly. "This horrible ordeal has taught me a very important lesson. Taking anything or anyone for granted is an incredibly foolish mistake. Because it can all vanish from your arms in an instant with no warning at all. I just can't go on pretending that I don't…" She took a halting breath before forcing the words out in a rush of feeling.

"I love you, Severus…very much. I don't want an arrangement any longer. I want a relationship…a real relationship. It doesn't have to be a public one, of course. Our circumstances haven't changed, but I want the time we spend together to count for something. I need to know that it matters. Casual sex is simply not an option for me any longer. I've come to care for you too much, and it's past time that I admitted that to you…even though I realize that you might not feel the same way."

Silence hung heavy in the air and she stood frozen in his arms, hoping that she hadn't made a horrible mistake by finally admitting how she felt about him, but she really hadn't had any other choice. Going on as they had before just wouldn't have been right. She loved him, and she needed him to know that. Just as she needed to know how he felt about her in return.

Snape's body relaxed fractionally in her embrace, and he raised a hand to her face once more, caressing her cheek gently. The smile that abruptly broke through the mask was very tender, though there was a slightly nervous cast to his eyes.

Finally, he said, "Well, if we're admitting the truth about our feelings, which isn't something I've had any practice at, you understand, I… I love you, too. I never thought I'd care this much about anyone, but when I was faced with the grim reality of losing you forever, I knew that it was the one loss that I just couldn't face. Don't ever leave me again, Minerva..." His voice trailed off with a harsh edge of deep emotion that cut into her heart.

As she heard that note of pleading in his tone, she longed to tell him that she wouldn't ever leave. For in truth, there was nothing she wanted more than to stay in his arms forever, but she couldn't force herself to make a promise that they'd both know in their hearts she was unlikely to be able to keep. Forever was a very long time. So instead, she simply slid her arms around his neck, buried her fingers deeply in his dark hair, pulled him tightly against her and kissed him as passionately as she was able.

He returned her kiss with a desperate intensity. Both of them put every ounce of the consuming passion that they'd been holding inside for so long into one deep kiss that had them both gasping for breath when they finally parted.

Then with a sudden, short laugh of triumph, Snape scooped her up into his arms and whirled around, heading for the bedroom with a distance eating stride.

"Severus," she gasped as she clung to him tightly, having been caught unaware by his impulsive actions. "What are you doing?"

"I think we both know where this is headed and, frankly, I vastly prefer the feeling of a well cushioned bed beneath me when I make love to you again over the dubious comfort of a sofa or worse yet…a hearth rug."

With a pang, she remembered the horrible shape she'd been in the last time they'd been in each other's arms when, even if they'd had the privacy or the time, she doubted that she'd have been able to make love to him. Since location had never seemed to matter to him before, she had a feeling that he was being unusually solicitous of her due to her recent ordeal. Deeply touched at that thought, she simply smiled and tightened her arms around his neck as he carried her over the threshold into her bedroom, taking his actions as a sign that he really did love her.

Gently, he laid her down on her bed and joined her there to kiss, touch and caress her lovingly. Undressing took a fair while, but it had never seemed quite as enjoyable as it did this time. Her fingers eagerly sought to slip every button through its hole, knowing that each time she did brought her closer to touching the man beneath, something she'd dreamed about every night they'd been apart.

Together, they turned the act of discarding clothing into a ritual of rediscovery. Peeling off layer after layer of heavy material to slowly reveal the desired skin hidden beneath. Fingers whispered over warm curves and angles, lips brushed against delicate flesh, leaving tingling paths in their wake and reawakening feelings that each had put aside, unsure of ever being able to own them again.

Once they were both naked in each other's arms, he slowly began to re-explore her body with his lips and tongue. Sucking passionately on the soft skin at the crook of her neck, kissing the delicate and sensitive flesh inside her elbow, tasting each finger in slow and sensuous detail while she moaned and closed her eyes, relishing his touch and the warmth of his body against her own. His hands cupped her breasts gently and softly caressed them with his fingertips as his lips moved from one to the other sucking in the erect nipples and sending waves of pleasure flowing outward through her being.

The hands that had been caressing her breasts now slid around her and pulled her tightly against his chest as he raised his face to hers to kiss her passionately once more. Their arms tightened around each other, pulling themselves as close together as two solid forms could get. During the time she'd spent in prison, her skin had felt stiff and frozen, ice coated and numb to sensation. Now, as his strong hands glided possessively over her body once more, life returned in the warmth that exuded from his fingertips.

Severus pulled pins from her hair and tossed them carelessly aside. Then he ran his fingers through the heavy mass, sliding them through the tangles and enjoying the feeling of the long strands as they slipped easily against his skin. Released from its confinement, her glossy dark hair fanned out across the snowy pillow as she bent her head back and sighed in contentment. Her pale skin glowed as the last of the day's dying light shown in the tall windows, edging her body with a faint whiteness that slowly faded away into a quiet gray. Long shadows banded both of their bodies in the dimness. Vision temporarily faded with the last of the light and was replaced in importance by touch and taste and scent.

Once their union had been lovingly reaffirmed, exhaustion crept up to claim them, as the events of the past week finally caught up to them both. Severus reached down and pulled the comforter that was piled at the foot of the bed up and over the two of them, letting them give in to their bodies and nestle together to drift off into a contented sleep.

Sometime later, Minerva opened her eyes abruptly. She lay quietly, unsure for a moment just what had awakened her. The room was very dark save for the long rectangle of pale gray that indicated where the window was. The moon had moved beyond where it could peer into her room, and now its faint glow simply lightened the darkness and gave shadows a pale substance against the inky background of night.

Gradually, she became aware that a hand was moving very slowly up along the flesh of her thigh, spreading a comforting warmth across her abdomen and pausing to caress the curve of her breast with a feathery touch. Happiness flooded through her. She was home. In the safety of her own comfortable bed, and she wasn't alone.

In the near silent darkness, a heavy living thing all on its own, she could lose herself in all the sensations that she'd been deprived of for what seemed an eternity. Turning to the side, she could barely make out the silhouette of a dark head on the pillow next to her own. A gleam of eyes watched her and, as they noted her wakefulness, the body they belonged to shifted closer.

Warm lips grazed her shoulder gently and began to nuzzle into her neck. "Did I wake you?" his low voice inquired unnecessarily, since they both knew that he had.

She smiled into the darkness and turned away from him, reaching for her bedside table. Since the house-elves had put everything else back, she was quite confident that she'd find what she sought there, and, indeed, she was able to wave a hand over a candle that stood ready on the bedside table, bringing it flaring to life.

Then with a mischievous smile on her lips, she lay back and turned her head to face her lover. "As a matter of fact, you did wake me. Not that I'm sorry, mind you."

He smiled in return and reached for her, intending to pull her against him once more, but her voice stopped him.

"You know, Severus, I just remembered something that I'd meant to bring up with you."

He raised an eyebrow and propped himself up on an elbow facing her. "Oh?"

"Yes, as I came through the entrance hall on my return to the castle, I noticed that somehow Gryffindor House is now down 200 points from where it was when I left slightly more than a week ago. That seemed like rather a lot to me for such a short span of time."

There was a moment of silence as they looked at one another, then Severus lay back flat on the bed and turned his head towards her, pasting an innocent expression onto his face. "Really? I hadn't noticed. That does seem like a large drop. I wonder what could have caused it?"

"Perhaps someone was taking advantage of my absence," she suggested with a raised eyebrow.

Severus pretended to consider the matter carefully. "I suppose your students might have been a bit less well behaved without you here to watch over them. Students are likely to take advantage of such things. You know that old saying…when the cat's away, the…rats…will play."

Minerva's eyes sparkled, but she forced a frown. "Hmmm, I was thinking more along the lines of…when the cat's away, the…snake…will play, actually."

Severus rolled onto his side to face her once more and smiled an innocent smile as he pushed the comforter aside and ran a slow finger down the length of her chest, between the twin mounds of her breasts, making her shiver once more with desire for him.

"Really? But Minerva…" His voice was a seductive whisper.

Slowly, he bent down and kissed her shoulder with lingering lips.

"When the cat's away…"

His mouth moved down to the flesh of her nearest breast.

"There's no one for the snake to play…" He sucked her nipple gently into his mouth and released it. "…with."

Minerva smiled and rolled towards him so they lay face to face. "Well, then I guess the cat will have to stay right here from now on, won't she?"

Severus smiled an answering, knowing smile. "My thoughts exactly…" he murmured in satisfaction. Then he reached over and drew her body against his own again for one more long, lingering kiss.

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**Author's Note:** Thank you so much to everyone who's read and commented on this story, especially to those few who have been so regular and generous in sharing their thoughts and opinions. I hope that you've enjoyed reading the story as much as I've enjoyed hearing from all of you.


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